Syntax of Things

Wanna Know How My Day Was?

Five point something (they can't quite figure it out), sixty or so miles from here (again, can't figure it out), and I was twenty floors and five minutes from going home.

I'll Refrain From Comment

...know when to walk away...

...know when to run...

The Devil Is 46

Over a year ago, I was first in line at the box office window to plop down my twenty bucks for a ticket to see Camper Van Beethoven's reunion. After all, I loved the band back when, caught one of the last shows of their final tour, and heard the news only days later that they'd called it quits. I had a hard time listening to Cracker, longing for the good old days of polka punk, angered at the fact that David Lowery couldn't keep his ego in check to hold together one of the most innovative bands going. When they announced they were playing San Diego, I couldn't wait. I would reluctantly give Cracker its due and applaud after the band's opening set. But nothing could wipe the smile off of my face when the slightly out of tune violin screeched through the half-filled venue. They were back.

Now they're all coming back. All of the bands that seemed on the fringe, the 120 Minutes set, the music of my high school years. Camper, Mission of Burma, the Cure, Moz, and, probably the biggest of them all as far as I'm concerned, the Pixies. But this is where my heart and head part ways. See, I never saw the Pixies live. It seemed every time they toured, I was either broke or otherwise unable to attend. And I've always regretted this. Regret, however, won't open up my tight wallet.

It seems that seeing my beloved Pixies won't come cheap. We're talking $46--$36 for the ticket and $10 to Ticketscammer. Forty-six bucks to see a band that hasn't put out an album's worth of new material in well over a decade. Sure, now I have the money; I could fork over the cash, but there's something about paying that much for a concert, something that goes against my long-standing oath not to overpay just to say I've seen a band live. To this point, reviews of their live shows have been mixed, nothing to pry the MasterCard from my tightly wadded fingers. Not going to happen this time.

I'll wait for the new album and the next tour.

A Bit of Sad News

I've been sitting on this information for a few weeks now because I wasn't sure if it was given to me with the permission to blog it, but apparently William Vollmann suffered some sort of stroke sometime in May. At first, he was completely blind but has since regained his sight. Word has it that he will make a full recovery. More information when it becomes available.

Also, sorry for the lack of a link, but this seems to be getting no press. Perhaps that's on purpose. I simply felt that all of us who consider ourselves fans of his writing might want to send some positive thoughts his way.

In Case You're Keeping Score

For you and I, coming up with a name for a newborn baby is often a matter of much discussion, consulting family and friends for bad ideas and narrowing the list to names that sound good or that won't be easily tagged with a scarred-for-life nickname. If you're a celebrity couple, the naming process is often a matter of coming up with a name that will forever bring up the question, "Are they on something?" A few weeks ago, Gwyneth and Mr. Coldplay named their kid Apple and offered no explanation as to why. A few weeks ago, that name would have ranked up there with Demi and Bruce's choices for their children.

Until today.

Apple seems quite normal when compared to...Coco. Coco Cox Arquette.

The Pits

Finally, someone takes on the disturbing ads that have me wincing every time I open a magazine.

The ads are for a deodorant called "Axe," which is some sort of mass-produced cheap-ass Wal-Mart gag-reflex men's body spray that doubtlessly smells like a rank synthetic admixture of pine cones and road tar and Raid Ant & Roach Death, the scent of which will likely remind you of something your drunk mulleted cousin might've worn to the Spokane Auto Show back in 1984.

Unfortunate Placement of Man's Bald Head in Photograph of Clinton's Portrait

...or, Let the "Where's the Cigar?" Quips Begin.

When You Wake Up

Despite leaving the apartment just one time this weekend, I still managed to come down with some form of food poisoning Saturday night. This is an unconfirmed diagnosis, but the fact that most of that evening was spent catching up on back issues of Spin might indicate just what type of condition I found myself in. Forgive the blasphemy, but I blame Krispy Kreme. That morning, my wife bought two dozen assorted doughnuts from KK. Not for me, mind you, but for her fellow yard sale workers. She and a couple of friends spread out a lawn full of unwanted items--and a few she didn't ask if I still wanted(The History of Farting)--tacked up a few signs, and drew in enough people to pay for our dinner that night. While they sold, I ate a half dozen glazed and a couple of the assorted. In fact, most of the day I felt drawn to the box, so by the time we made our way to the BBQ joint, I was starting to feel a bit haggard.

I needed yesterday to recover.

All is fine otherwise. I'm hoping to return to my regular schedule this week.

Thanks to Rake for his mention of SoT whilst he was being raked over at Joe Bloggs.

Also, I have a gmail handle (jephab at gmail dot com) now thanks to my new best friend, Lucina Eustacia Katina Blaze Guerrero "Freaky girl" Droddilla. Thank you for thinking of me. I should have a few to hand out this week, so stay tuned.

Detroit Riot City

Note: I pulled the original content of this post because I made disparaging remarks about Detroit. A post previous to this one was deleted because I said something equally negative about L.A. I want this to be a place of peace and harmony so I should avoid describing both of those places with a word such as enema.

And I'm not hoping for a riot of any sort. Riots are such messy affairs. I wouldn't want the beauty that is L.A. or Detroit to go up in flames. After all, I'm downwind from L.A.

Morning Posts

I'm trying to get some non-blog related writing done in the afternoons this week, so my usual long-form morning post will not appear until probably next Monday. The usual collection of afternoon absurdities will not be affected.

Straight to Video

What came into my head...is here's 'Ulysses,' supposedly the greatest novel ever written, and nobody's read the damn thing, especially here in Ireland. It's on everybody's shelf, but nobody's read more than five pages of it. Luckily, I've never been to university, I'm not a scholar, and so I brought no academic baggage to it. I just felt what Joyce wrote was so good, the building blocks were all there for a movie.

Director Sean Walsh comments on his cinematic debut, an interpretation of Joyce's Ulysses entitled Bloom, with Stephen Rea playing Bloom, Angelina Ball as Molly, and Hugh O'Conor as Dedalus.

A Hidden Love

It has been implied that my frequent mentions of a certain individual (pictured above) reveals a hidden agenda, that perhaps I'm actually fond of this individual. While denial would do nothing for my defense, I do ask you, the loyal readers of this blog, do you also sense this?

After all, I can't resist this.

Feast of Wire

During my abbreviated lunch break today, I caught some of the interview with Calexico's Joey Burns on Fresh Air (Windows Media File). If for no other reason, you should listen if you've never heard Calexico's version of "Alone Again Or."

Brief Note to Googler

To whom it may concern:

I won't ask why you are looking for this because I'm sure there has to be a good reason, but I promise you I don't have any pictures of a nude Camille Paglia. In fact, I don't think there is a single picture of a nude person anywhere on Syntax of Things. So, no nude Madonna or Courtney Love (whew and whew). No naked Charlotte Church. And most certainly, no Julio Franco spread.

Thanks for visiting and come back again soon.

--SoT

Judging by the Cover

Be careful opening this. Allow ten minutes after a meal before diving in or cramps may follow. When ready, check out the 10 worst album covers of all time.

Here's #7 on the list, easily my vote for #1:

{Link from FAZED.}

I Was Meant for the Stage

As a public service to all aspiring actors, here's a site that offers tips for "acting convincingly." I'm convinced that this may be where Tom Cruise picked up all of his acting dos and don'ts.

Transit of Venus

I'm Seeing Silos

Explanation will follow once I'm back to full strength. For now, I've got helicopters following a hearse on the TV and a blanket of marine layer to cool me off from a 90 degree Modesto day.

Tomorrow is another day. You'll find me here again. Tomorrow.

One Down, Many, Many to Go

Here's something sure to make your Friday a bit more festive: Creed is no more.

Reunion planned for 2011.

When Does the Pension Kick In?

In honor of Julio Franco becoming the oldest person to ever hit a grand slam in a Major League Baseball game, I'm going to spend today reflecting on the fact that I'm 33 and I feel old. Depending on the source, Julio is listed as 46. Some say he may be closer to 50. Everyone agrees that he might be the most fit baseball player going, no matter the age. Remember earlier this winter when told that he'd been accused of being on 'roids, he gave the quote of the year, saying he was simply on "Jesus juice."

Tonight begins a long weekend of baseball fun. First stop, Petco, where I'll be watching the Padres attempt to figure out their home park. Then I'm off on the third leg of THE tour: Stockton and Modesto. While it isn't the Chicago Book Expo, I'm sure to have a nice time. If nothing else, nearly 1000 miles of good old open road will recharge some very drained batteries.

Paw Lickin' Good

I've just realized that an entire chicken, save for the legs which we consumed last night along with the cheesy mashed potatoes (with Real Bacon Bits) and mustard greens (I'm a Southerner, what can I say?) disappeared from the pan on the counter where I left it. At first, I thought it had been put away by my brother after I'd retired for the evening. When I looked in the fridge this afternoon, I couldn't find it. Then I remembered that my oldest dog, Hannah, insisted on staying out of our room last night. This morning, the other dog, Homer, spent too much time licking the carpet next to my desk. So, putting carpet licking with missing chicken and a dog free to roam last night, I've concluded that Hannah had her way with said chicken, most likely disposing of all of the evidence except for some grease which was left behind on the carpet.

Dogs...turn your back on them and you never know what'll happen. In fact, die and you might end up like my chicken.

LOL, Part 2

You should definitely read Cinetrix's entire post on Michael Moore's new "documentary," but this part has to be singled out:

Know this, Michael Moore: When you drop the Hendrix guitar heroics, you may hear bad-ass, tear-it-up rebellion. Here's what I hear: "freedom rock" ads on late-night tv and a tired, bullshit mythologizing cliché.

Thank you, Cinetrix, for putting into words just how I've been feeling about Moore of late. I think we all want there to be a galvanizing force on the left, but what we seem to have are a bunch of egomaniacal jack-offs, well, jacking off. Why does the image of a fatter, left-leaning version of Limbaugh come to mind?

E-mails or comments welcome.

LOL, Part 1

Bill Geist's commentary from last night's 60 Minutes II had me choking on my cheesy mashed potatoes (with Real Bacon Bits added):

But this movie [The Day After Tomorrow] is completely over the top, based on a book co-authored by a gentleman who claims to have been abducted by aliens – and, alas, returned.

Anyway, annoying activists are passing out global warming flyers at this summer disaster movie, which seems to me about as effective as handing out opera schedules at a pro wrestling match.

Song on the Brain (6/3)

I thought about taking a break today. Need it. Sometimes I stare at my task list at work and realize that I'm doomed to days of too much work for many days to come. So I whine. My stress level peaks in bouts of headaches and insomnia. Nothing matters.

I think back to days when I could escape with a bottle and I miss them. So simple.

Nothing's ever that simple.

Thank goodness for songs that get caught in my brain's repeating playlist. After weeks of having Pylon sing about craziness, it's time to let Jolie Holland sing about a cure.

If you don't know of Jolie Holland, you should. She has a voice that's hard to describe. Why bother when you can hear her?

+ "Old Fashion Morphine" by Jolie Holland
+ ANTI-'s Jolie Holland site, includes another mp3 and a video for "Old Fashion Morphine"
+ SF Weekly profile of Holland

More from the "We're Always Last to Know" File

The movie adaptation of Rick Moody's Garden State will hit theaters soon. It is directed by and stars Zach Braff of "Scrubs" fame. You can find the trailer here.

{Link from chromewaves.}

Not Just a Pretty Voice

The Chicago Tribune has an extensive list with commentary of Tom Waits' most memorable movie roles.

In other TW news:

American Conservatory Theater presents the exclusive North American engagement of Robert Wilson, Tom Waits, and William Burroughs’s magical and deeply funny music-theater piece The Black Rider: The Casting of the Magic Bullets at the Geary Theater August 26–September 26, 2004. Press nights are August 31 and September 1, both at 8 p.m. The first Wilson theatrical production to have a full-scale theatrical run produced by an arts institution in the Bay Area, The Black Rider is presented in cooperation with Cultural Industry and London’s Barbican Theatre, and will feature Cabaret star Matt McGrath and iconic singer Marianne Faithfull as Pegleg, the devil incarnate.

(Ed, can you get me tickets?)

The Eye (?) of the Beholder

If you are going to be in the Sheboygan, Wisconsin, area, you might want to head over to the Kohler Arts Center where you'll find the winner of the third annual America’s Best Restroom contest. Hard to believe, but the Waffle House in Lawrence, Michigan, did not garner enough votes to edge out the hoity-toity art museum.

I've actually visited last year's winner, the Grand Casino in Biloxi, Mississippi. When I lived in Mobile, I'd make the occasional trip over to the casinos in Biloxi. My first trip to the Grand, I remember commenting on how nice the bathroom was. It may have been my first ever encounter with the sensor flushers now common on toilets worldwide. They actually won for their ladies room on the third floor, which:

features two entrances that lead the guest to the focal point of the room – an atrium-like vanity area, featuring a large red birdcage and gilded chandelier. Surrounding the vanity area are several red ceramic sinks, each beneath a gilded mirror and light fixture. Forming a u-shape and divided by a wall from the vanity/sink area are the restroom’s stalls. Each stall’s red door features a portrait of a Victorian-era lady – inside each stall, another gilded mirror is attached to the back wall.

And with this, I've reached an all-time low...

Erratum

A post made earlier today on this site referred to today's date as July 01, 2004. While SoT realizes that dates are relative, it is not nor will it ever be my intention to mislead the readers of this blog. Though the facts may always be a tad bit questionable, it shouldn't be too much of a strain for your humble writer/editor/nicotine addict to check that June is the sixth month of the year.

To make it up to you, I will allow free access to all content on this site for the remainder of the month of 6.

Enjoy!
--SoT

Getting out the Vote

If you have a few minutes to spare, head over and vote for my favorite baseball blog, Ducksnorts, in the World Series of Blogs. You may have to refresh the page a few times to get the correct poll to appear, but Geoff deserves the ring when all is said and done.

Another Time, Another Place

An excerpt from Dr. Bono's commencement address at Penn:

...I never went to college, I've slept in some strange places, but the library wasn't one of them. I studied rock and roll and I grew up in Dublin in the '70s, music was an alarm bell for me, it woke me up to the world. I was 17 when I first saw The Clash, and it just sounded like revolution. The Clash were like, "This is a public service announcement--with guitars." I was the kid in the crowd who took it at face value. Later I learned that a lot of the rebels were in it for the T-shirt. They'd wear the boots but they wouldn't march. They'd smash bottles on their heads but they wouldn't go to something more painful like a town hall meeting. By the way I felt like that myself until recently.

I didn't expect change to come so slow, so agonizingly slow. I didn't realize that the biggest obstacle to political and social progress wasn't the Free Masons, or the Establishment, or the boot heal of whatever you consider 'the Man' to be, it was something much more subtle. As the Provost just referred to, a combination of our own indifference and the Kafkaesque labyrinth of 'no's you encounter as people vanish down the corridors of bureaucracy.

So for better or worse that was my education. I came away with a clear sense of the difference music could make in my own life, in other peoples' lives if I did my job right. Which if you're a singer in a rock band means avoiding the obvious pitfalls like, say, a mullet hairdo. If anyone here doesn't know what a mullet is by the way your education's certainly not complete, I'd ask for your money back. For a lead singer like me, a mullet is, I would suggest, arguably more dangerous than a drug problem. Yes, I had a mullet in the '80s. {Emphasis and link are mine, just because it all made me laugh, and Bono knows, I needed it}

It's the End of World as We Know It (and I'm Awake)

Tuesday morning and I'm paying for three nights of near sleeplessness again. One day I'll do something about this insomnia, but in the meantime, I'm forced to deal with the ghosts that haunt the night. One strange side effect of many years of troubled sleep is the fact that I can't even begin to think of drifting off without some sort of noise in the room. More specifically, I must have the radio on. And it can't be music. Music is too distracting; I find myself listening and enjoying and the end result is a head full of songs at 3 AM. Instead, I tune the alarm clock radio to a talk show, and who better to listen to at the wee hours of night than the King of the After Dark, Art Bell.

Saturday morning sometime before sunrise, I stared up at the dusty ceiling fan as Bell talked about attending the premiere of "his" movie, The Day After Tomorrow. That's right, this disaster movie, which looks like a cross between Twister and Independence Day, is loosely based on a book written by Art Bell and Whitley Strieber, a former fill-in for Bell during one of his many recent retirements. If you thought that Bell only concerned himself with chemtrails and UFOs, you're wrong. He does spend numerous shows talking about the coming superstorms that will put an end to this planet as we know it. This night, he interviewed a man who has written extensively on the possibility of an Ice Age in the near future. One of the more disturbing parts of the interview was a discussion on the potential for a mega-disaster if (when) Yellowstone erupts. According to his guest, everyone in a 600-mile radius of Yellowstone would die within minutes, lava would shoot 150,000 feet into the air, and the temperatures on earth would plummet 20 degrees for an extended period of time.

Maybe it's time I try something new to generate my twilight whitenoise. Perhaps I should give one of those recordings of rainfall or of rain forests a try. Art Bell's voice can do wonders, but his content can have me wide-eyed in a cold sweat wondering when the sky will fall on top of my sleepy head.