Friday evening marked the return of Russell and Ellen to Athens. It had been too long.
That night, we made homemade corndogs, the recipe for which came from fellow alum Alton Brown. After eating the homemade variety, I will never put the rotten prefab shit in my mouth ever again. If you would like the recipe, you can look in his book. Just be warned. Your calorie counter may behave erratically if you attempt to calculate the impact of this particular nutritional choice.
Yesterday, we obviously went to something intended to simulate a basketball game. Afterwards, we made our inaugural trip to Trappeze. It was a touch crowded, but not too bad by Athens standards. Everyone seemed to enjoy their drink choice. And, of course, we got to drink at Athens prices. As I began typing this, my very significant other said, "We should go back there." We will.
Today, we headed out to a Georgia baseball game, which we somehow managed to lose by blowing a late lead aaaaaagain. We finished the weekend off 0-2 at Georgia athletic events. Not good.
Tonight, Meghan and I rented "The Number 23." The title is significant, because it is what was on the DVD clock when we decided that it was too stupid to continue. "Martian Child," on the other hand, had some nice moments and a cute story.
This weeks is the university spring break, so I will have a break from some of my obligations there. Meghan and I will try to spend some time together (possibly including the new World of Coke), while I try to make up for some lost time due to the indecision in a client. I also head to NYC on Friday evening for a few days of travel company work.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Saturday, March 08, 2008
It is time
I was at Stegeman this afternoon, and it wasn't pretty.
Ellen, Russell, Warren S., his two-year old nephew Holden, Meghan, and I have been planning our trip to the Stegosaurus for over a month. When we walked in today, thirty minutes before the tip, you could sense it: an apathy that you could cut with a pilates ball. Though the limited crowd offered a very appreciative reception for Bliss, Gaines, and the memory of Br0phy, the rest of the day was phoned in by almost all involved. I was truly embarrassed for myself and my school. But I couldn't blame anyone.
Make no mistake. I am very appreciative of the coach for showing up at a time when we really didn't have much to offer. And I hope the significant buyout we will pay him will help remind him of that.
But it's hard to imagine things getting any better any time soon. That lack of hope is reflected in a team and a more-than-half empty house that both probably should have stayed in bed this morning. When we play the video montages to half-interested fans and play the songs that set the tempo for the golf claps of the faithful, we don't do our school or our brand any favors.
Wednesdays and Saturdays in Stegeman have become self-parody, and no one seems to care. To me, that is as sure a sign as any that it is time for a change.
Ellen, Russell, Warren S., his two-year old nephew Holden, Meghan, and I have been planning our trip to the Stegosaurus for over a month. When we walked in today, thirty minutes before the tip, you could sense it: an apathy that you could cut with a pilates ball. Though the limited crowd offered a very appreciative reception for Bliss, Gaines, and the memory of Br0phy, the rest of the day was phoned in by almost all involved. I was truly embarrassed for myself and my school. But I couldn't blame anyone.
Make no mistake. I am very appreciative of the coach for showing up at a time when we really didn't have much to offer. And I hope the significant buyout we will pay him will help remind him of that.
But it's hard to imagine things getting any better any time soon. That lack of hope is reflected in a team and a more-than-half empty house that both probably should have stayed in bed this morning. When we play the video montages to half-interested fans and play the songs that set the tempo for the golf claps of the faithful, we don't do our school or our brand any favors.
Wednesdays and Saturdays in Stegeman have become self-parody, and no one seems to care. To me, that is as sure a sign as any that it is time for a change.
Friday, March 07, 2008
How I Stopped Snoring
I have endured many years of complaints and chiding about my snoring. Perhaps more importantly, anyone near me when I sleep has suffered even more seriously. The BreatheRight strips don't seem to work, since I snore in my throat. The spray just doesn't get it done.
My doctor expressed some concern last month at my elevated blood pressure. Because I have few risk factors for hypertension, I began checking into possible causes of the problem. Eventually, I found that sleep apnea had been known to raise blood pressure. I was also experiencing headaches in the morning, and found myself needing to nap in the middle of the day. These too can be symptoms of apnea.
At about the same time, a third party - who was as concerned about anyone who might sleep around me as she was for my well being - brought this to my attention. I was intrigued by the the physical effect it is supposed to have. But I am not in a position to drop 129.00 USD plus tax on a non-returnable item that is "supposed" to work.
The more I read the comments of those who had success with the pillow, the more I wondered if it would be possible to engineer a homemade solution that would provide the same benefit. I gauged the success or failure of the solution based on presence or absence of a headache within a short amount of time after waking, whether or not I became sleepy before dinner, and whether or not I had any other evidence of snoring (interpret that as you wish).
After about a week of trying, I found something that works. If I can support the back of my head with my pillow, with my arm laying much as it is in the picture of the product, I can let my mouth hang. The headaches and the drowsiness (along with the snoring) have disappeared since adopting this way of sleeping. The one night I forgot to sleep this way, I sure enough suffered both once again.
Tomorrow, I will start on cancer. Hopefully I can be working on world hunger by mid-April.
My doctor expressed some concern last month at my elevated blood pressure. Because I have few risk factors for hypertension, I began checking into possible causes of the problem. Eventually, I found that sleep apnea had been known to raise blood pressure. I was also experiencing headaches in the morning, and found myself needing to nap in the middle of the day. These too can be symptoms of apnea.
At about the same time, a third party - who was as concerned about anyone who might sleep around me as she was for my well being - brought this to my attention. I was intrigued by the the physical effect it is supposed to have. But I am not in a position to drop 129.00 USD plus tax on a non-returnable item that is "supposed" to work.
The more I read the comments of those who had success with the pillow, the more I wondered if it would be possible to engineer a homemade solution that would provide the same benefit. I gauged the success or failure of the solution based on presence or absence of a headache within a short amount of time after waking, whether or not I became sleepy before dinner, and whether or not I had any other evidence of snoring (interpret that as you wish).
After about a week of trying, I found something that works. If I can support the back of my head with my pillow, with my arm laying much as it is in the picture of the product, I can let my mouth hang. The headaches and the drowsiness (along with the snoring) have disappeared since adopting this way of sleeping. The one night I forgot to sleep this way, I sure enough suffered both once again.
Tomorrow, I will start on cancer. Hopefully I can be working on world hunger by mid-April.
Letting Go of Dwight
This one is serious, and may be a bit too Stuart Smalley-esque for the squeamish. Proceed with caution.
The other day, I mentioned that I was forced to change my plans to observe the recording session on campus because Dwight was present. That is only part of the story.
Last Sunday, as I drove from my home to the Performing Arts Center, I was really beginning to look forward to the occasion of seeing Bruce and hearing the group record again as they used to. I had been anticipating this since mid-December, so I had plenty of time to get excited.
As I walked in the stage door, I could hear several voices bouncing down the backstage hallway. Seemingly random numbers and not-so-random comments about the performance on stage were interrupted by the occasional laugh. I had missed that sound.
I turned right from the hallway into the dressing room area. When I began my immediate left into the green room, I realized that I was in mixed company. Christine, exactly how you remember her, was nearest the green room door watching the goings on in the center of the room. Dwight was further inside wearing his typical green and blue rugby shirt, which has gone from snug to loose to somewhat snug over the last decade or so.
Over the years, I have gotten pretty good at making a turn at the slightest sign of their presence. Though I have lately been a bit out of practice, my reflexes did not fail me. I pulled out of the turn without thinking about it, and continued my purposeful walk down the dressing room hallway. I made my first available turn right, in an attempt to get into the restroom through the shower room door. I encountered several pieces of furniture that had been removed from the green room to make way for the recording equipment. The obstacles were no match for my desire to get the hell out of that situation, as I climbed over a chair, a coffee table, and a custodian’s cart without any hesitation or thought of going around.
I forced the shower room door open, locked the door from the restroom into the shower area, and slumped on a bench. My heart was beating well into my throat, my breath way too fast and way too deep. I sat and attempted to calm myself while trying to construct a way out that would most likely avoid any encounter with Dwight.
After thinking for quite some time, I decided to go back into the hallway and hide behind a corner to wait to hear them leaving before entering the green room. A couple of disappointed peeks into the room and several minutes of silence from the enemies convinced me that this wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I considered calling Meghan, Bruce, or one of the people I believed to be in the green room. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to make that call without being detected. Furthermore, I didn’t know what I would have asked them to do should I have gotten anyone on the phone.
The longer I stayed hidden back there, the greater became the possibility of my being seen hiding. That would be the only outcome worse than running into them on my way out the door. Some twenty-five minutes or so after arriving, I made my way back into the shower room, through the restroom, and quickly into the main backstage hallway. I was out the door in ten seconds.
I waited outside in my car to see if I could catch them leaving the building, but the futility of the entire afternoon quickly sank in. I called Meghan and headed home. Defeated.
I was depressed for the rest of the day. I dusted off all of the old explanations of how Dwight had wronged many, myself included. I preached a sermon or too on the tragedies that resulted from his indiscretions. I sulked about not being able to hear the band and visit with Bruce, as I had been planning for nearly two-and-a-half months. My day was shot.
Since then, I have begun to realize how pathetic the events of that entire Sunday afternoon were. I have become sickened at the thought of my going to such great lengths to avoid anyone who is supposedly unarmed. I have become disgusted that my heart and lungs involuntarily reacted as though there was some sort of danger.
Because of the weakness I exhibit as it relates to him, there are some things that I have to remind myself about my experience with Dwight. This person was my professional mentor in whom I had placed the exceptional trust of an eager student – a trust that is surrendered with the promise of learning without reservation, but at the risk of being manipulated sharply and used carelessly. I had a friendship with Dwight and his wife that was a close to a familial relationship as any I had ever had, with the exception of my actual family. Both of those very sensitive relationships, and the nearly blind loyalty that came with them, were viciously betrayed. When someone gets that close to you and then hurts you badly, it is natural to respond to encounters with them as though you are being attacked. You are.
But it has been over five years since Dwight was removed from the band area. Five years! Since that time, I have been in no hierarchy that included him. I have not been asked to speak to him, to sit in a room with him (unless the entire faculty was there), to cooperate with him or to act under his authority. Yet still he is a topic of conversation, a source of anxiety, and a destroyer of an otherwise perfect Sunday afternoon.
So I have been asking myself, “Why is that?” Why are his words, his presence, or his influence any concern of mine?
I guess I have realized that Dwight continues to influence me because I haven’t let go of 2002. I haven’t gotten over what he did to the band, what he did to others, or what did to me. I haven’t stripped him of his duties as they relate to me, or truly realized that what appeared to be a vibrant teacher-student relationship was actually a waste of my time. I have been continuing to harbor this resentment toward him for ruining something that seemed so great, when I needed to have realized that there was nothing there to ruin. I have failed to realize that any memories I have of a good friend, a committed professor, or an invested mentor are completely fraudulent.
I understand that I am probably the last one of those involved to do this, but I have decided that it is past time to put it to bed. There simply isn’t any reason to avoid him anymore. There’s no reason to worry, no reason to change my plans because of him. There is no need to get anxious when I happen upon him.
I’m not sure if this is forgiveness or not. I think forgiveness is what you do out of love or kindness – what you do when you need to start over, or what you do when someone has damaged something of yours and you need to find a way to move on with life. I don’t think that’s what this is.
I think this is the realization that he simply isn’t anything anymore. He doesn’t wield influence, doesn’t control the money. He isn’t a father figure, a friend, an important professor, or a worthy mentor.
In fact, he probably never was.
The other day, I mentioned that I was forced to change my plans to observe the recording session on campus because Dwight was present. That is only part of the story.
Last Sunday, as I drove from my home to the Performing Arts Center, I was really beginning to look forward to the occasion of seeing Bruce and hearing the group record again as they used to. I had been anticipating this since mid-December, so I had plenty of time to get excited.
As I walked in the stage door, I could hear several voices bouncing down the backstage hallway. Seemingly random numbers and not-so-random comments about the performance on stage were interrupted by the occasional laugh. I had missed that sound.
I turned right from the hallway into the dressing room area. When I began my immediate left into the green room, I realized that I was in mixed company. Christine, exactly how you remember her, was nearest the green room door watching the goings on in the center of the room. Dwight was further inside wearing his typical green and blue rugby shirt, which has gone from snug to loose to somewhat snug over the last decade or so.
Over the years, I have gotten pretty good at making a turn at the slightest sign of their presence. Though I have lately been a bit out of practice, my reflexes did not fail me. I pulled out of the turn without thinking about it, and continued my purposeful walk down the dressing room hallway. I made my first available turn right, in an attempt to get into the restroom through the shower room door. I encountered several pieces of furniture that had been removed from the green room to make way for the recording equipment. The obstacles were no match for my desire to get the hell out of that situation, as I climbed over a chair, a coffee table, and a custodian’s cart without any hesitation or thought of going around.
I forced the shower room door open, locked the door from the restroom into the shower area, and slumped on a bench. My heart was beating well into my throat, my breath way too fast and way too deep. I sat and attempted to calm myself while trying to construct a way out that would most likely avoid any encounter with Dwight.
After thinking for quite some time, I decided to go back into the hallway and hide behind a corner to wait to hear them leaving before entering the green room. A couple of disappointed peeks into the room and several minutes of silence from the enemies convinced me that this wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I considered calling Meghan, Bruce, or one of the people I believed to be in the green room. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to make that call without being detected. Furthermore, I didn’t know what I would have asked them to do should I have gotten anyone on the phone.
The longer I stayed hidden back there, the greater became the possibility of my being seen hiding. That would be the only outcome worse than running into them on my way out the door. Some twenty-five minutes or so after arriving, I made my way back into the shower room, through the restroom, and quickly into the main backstage hallway. I was out the door in ten seconds.
I waited outside in my car to see if I could catch them leaving the building, but the futility of the entire afternoon quickly sank in. I called Meghan and headed home. Defeated.
I was depressed for the rest of the day. I dusted off all of the old explanations of how Dwight had wronged many, myself included. I preached a sermon or too on the tragedies that resulted from his indiscretions. I sulked about not being able to hear the band and visit with Bruce, as I had been planning for nearly two-and-a-half months. My day was shot.
Since then, I have begun to realize how pathetic the events of that entire Sunday afternoon were. I have become sickened at the thought of my going to such great lengths to avoid anyone who is supposedly unarmed. I have become disgusted that my heart and lungs involuntarily reacted as though there was some sort of danger.
Because of the weakness I exhibit as it relates to him, there are some things that I have to remind myself about my experience with Dwight. This person was my professional mentor in whom I had placed the exceptional trust of an eager student – a trust that is surrendered with the promise of learning without reservation, but at the risk of being manipulated sharply and used carelessly. I had a friendship with Dwight and his wife that was a close to a familial relationship as any I had ever had, with the exception of my actual family. Both of those very sensitive relationships, and the nearly blind loyalty that came with them, were viciously betrayed. When someone gets that close to you and then hurts you badly, it is natural to respond to encounters with them as though you are being attacked. You are.
But it has been over five years since Dwight was removed from the band area. Five years! Since that time, I have been in no hierarchy that included him. I have not been asked to speak to him, to sit in a room with him (unless the entire faculty was there), to cooperate with him or to act under his authority. Yet still he is a topic of conversation, a source of anxiety, and a destroyer of an otherwise perfect Sunday afternoon.
So I have been asking myself, “Why is that?” Why are his words, his presence, or his influence any concern of mine?
I guess I have realized that Dwight continues to influence me because I haven’t let go of 2002. I haven’t gotten over what he did to the band, what he did to others, or what did to me. I haven’t stripped him of his duties as they relate to me, or truly realized that what appeared to be a vibrant teacher-student relationship was actually a waste of my time. I have been continuing to harbor this resentment toward him for ruining something that seemed so great, when I needed to have realized that there was nothing there to ruin. I have failed to realize that any memories I have of a good friend, a committed professor, or an invested mentor are completely fraudulent.
I understand that I am probably the last one of those involved to do this, but I have decided that it is past time to put it to bed. There simply isn’t any reason to avoid him anymore. There’s no reason to worry, no reason to change my plans because of him. There is no need to get anxious when I happen upon him.
I’m not sure if this is forgiveness or not. I think forgiveness is what you do out of love or kindness – what you do when you need to start over, or what you do when someone has damaged something of yours and you need to find a way to move on with life. I don’t think that’s what this is.
I think this is the realization that he simply isn’t anything anymore. He doesn’t wield influence, doesn’t control the money. He isn’t a father figure, a friend, an important professor, or a worthy mentor.
In fact, he probably never was.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
The Garth Brooks Juice Diet
Up until a few hours ago, the "legitimate" news sources on the internet would have had you believe that Patrick Swayze would be dead before Tax Day. Major news outlets (most of whom have apparently realized and attempted to remove the egg on their collective face by removing the original story) reported today with a line very similar to the following:
Actor Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer and is not expected to survive through the spring, according to a report today from The National Enquirer. - suntimes.com (Chicago Sun-Times), March 5, 2008
Wait. Did you just cite the National Enquirer in a legitimate news story? On terminal cancer? Of a public figure?
Reminds me of a scene from So I Married an Axe Murderer:
Charlie: Hey Mom, I find it interesting that you refer to the Weekly World News as The Paper. The paper contains facts.
Mom:This paper contains facts. And this paper has the eighth highest circulation in the whole wide world. Right? Plenty of facts. "Pregnant man gives birth." That's a fact. (Source: IMDB)
This makes David Hasinski's much-debated suggestion that input from "citizen journalists" should be regulated seem a little premature (among other things). Standards, Professor? How about standards for legitimate news gatherers first. Perhaps we can save just one desperate soul from attempting to lose weight on the Garth Brooks Juice Diet.
Actor Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer and is not expected to survive through the spring, according to a report today from The National Enquirer. - suntimes.com (Chicago Sun-Times), March 5, 2008
Wait. Did you just cite the National Enquirer in a legitimate news story? On terminal cancer? Of a public figure?
Reminds me of a scene from So I Married an Axe Murderer:
Charlie: Hey Mom, I find it interesting that you refer to the Weekly World News as The Paper. The paper contains facts.
Mom:This paper contains facts. And this paper has the eighth highest circulation in the whole wide world. Right? Plenty of facts. "Pregnant man gives birth." That's a fact. (Source: IMDB)
This makes David Hasinski's much-debated suggestion that input from "citizen journalists" should be regulated seem a little premature (among other things). Standards, Professor? How about standards for legitimate news gatherers first. Perhaps we can save just one desperate soul from attempting to lose weight on the Garth Brooks Juice Diet.
Yazz Band
Some fifteen-and-one-half years after beginning to play in the group, I have recently found myself in front of the University Jazz Band.
This all began last November, just before I took my trip to Nashville with Steve. It was a particularly slow time in terms of work (as the fall usually is). Steve asked if I would have some time to write a couple of "head charts" for the band. Head charts are basically arrangements that contain a main melody (the "head"), an open section for solos, and a return of the head. My formal education in jazz arranging has been virtually non-existent, so I tend to jump at a chance to write in a style that I really enjoy but in which I have little experience. I accepted, and quickly finished my first chart a couple of days later.
That couple of head charts expanded on one January afternoon, when Steve called seemingly just to chat. As the conversation continued, he eventually revealed that he anticipated needing one or two more charts. He also revealed that the reason for this need was that there was a possibility that the Jazz Band may have been going to China for a week in conjunction with the governor's opening an economic development office in Beijing. In order to fill the required amount of time, they would need a lot of easy vocalist-compatible music quickly.
The band has accepted the invitation. They have four rehearsals left before they depart. The arrangements have long since been written. I now find myself at the school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, rehearsing the band in preparation for their trip in a month. I also find myself giving "voice" lessons to the wonderful vocalist who will be performing with the group. And, of course, I am still on call to write for the band again should the need arise. I have, once again, become the utility infielder for a portion of the School of Music.
The more things change...
This all began last November, just before I took my trip to Nashville with Steve. It was a particularly slow time in terms of work (as the fall usually is). Steve asked if I would have some time to write a couple of "head charts" for the band. Head charts are basically arrangements that contain a main melody (the "head"), an open section for solos, and a return of the head. My formal education in jazz arranging has been virtually non-existent, so I tend to jump at a chance to write in a style that I really enjoy but in which I have little experience. I accepted, and quickly finished my first chart a couple of days later.
That couple of head charts expanded on one January afternoon, when Steve called seemingly just to chat. As the conversation continued, he eventually revealed that he anticipated needing one or two more charts. He also revealed that the reason for this need was that there was a possibility that the Jazz Band may have been going to China for a week in conjunction with the governor's opening an economic development office in Beijing. In order to fill the required amount of time, they would need a lot of easy vocalist-compatible music quickly.
The band has accepted the invitation. They have four rehearsals left before they depart. The arrangements have long since been written. I now find myself at the school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, rehearsing the band in preparation for their trip in a month. I also find myself giving "voice" lessons to the wonderful vocalist who will be performing with the group. And, of course, I am still on call to write for the band again should the need arise. I have, once again, become the utility infielder for a portion of the School of Music.
The more things change...
Monday, March 03, 2008
Ears
For many years beginning in 1997, I was privileged to work annually with a recording engineer at the university named Bruce. This is Bruce, with his default non-farting expression. After Dwight was shipped off to the Siberia that is the second floor in late 2002, Bruce's services at UGA were discontinued in the interest of a clean break with the past, fiscal caution, and perhaps compliance with the Clean Air Act Amendment of 1990.
In case you aren't aware, Bruce farts a lot.
In every occasion I had to work with Bruce, I learned more than I ever learned in a classroom. It wasn't always necessarily Bruce that taught me those things, but the circumstances of our association were always quite informative. Bruce's personality was one I always enjoyed - generally very positive, but brutal when negative. He appreciated the people as much as the music and the experience as much as the money.
After Bruce stopped coming to Athens, I began making it a point to see him in Chicago every December. The conversations were always too brief, but very valuable to me.
This past December, Bruce told me that he would be returning to Athens this winter for the first time in six years. He invited me to come to the sessions, for the purposes of visiting and observing a different way of recording than that to which I was accustomed. The first session was yesterday, but my visit was aborted by an encounter with Dwight and Christine. More about that later.
Today's visits were much more pleasant. I was reminded of some of my favorite memories of being a part of the production process. More importantly, I was reminded of great memories of working around people of whom I still think fondly, more frequently than they probably know. You know who you are.
In case you aren't aware, Bruce farts a lot.
In every occasion I had to work with Bruce, I learned more than I ever learned in a classroom. It wasn't always necessarily Bruce that taught me those things, but the circumstances of our association were always quite informative. Bruce's personality was one I always enjoyed - generally very positive, but brutal when negative. He appreciated the people as much as the music and the experience as much as the money.
After Bruce stopped coming to Athens, I began making it a point to see him in Chicago every December. The conversations were always too brief, but very valuable to me.
This past December, Bruce told me that he would be returning to Athens this winter for the first time in six years. He invited me to come to the sessions, for the purposes of visiting and observing a different way of recording than that to which I was accustomed. The first session was yesterday, but my visit was aborted by an encounter with Dwight and Christine. More about that later.
Today's visits were much more pleasant. I was reminded of some of my favorite memories of being a part of the production process. More importantly, I was reminded of great memories of working around people of whom I still think fondly, more frequently than they probably know. You know who you are.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
A blog about blogging
It is an internet cliché to apologize for not blogging, so I won't. But I hereby acknowledge my virtual truancy of late. It really is a shame, because there is a lot going on.
To remedy this, I am imposing a quota on myself. I will write something of meaning in my blog every day for the next week. Topics may include, but are not limited to:
- Today's brush with Dwight, and my somehow still growing disgust for him.
- Today's brush with an old friend and boss, who I have missed since "Bloody Friday."
- My recent visits to the doctor, or "It isn't that funny when you put on a rubber glove, and then say, 'Just Kidding.'"
- Pants: Yay or Nay?
- God.
- Golf with my Dad.
So, if I have been disappointing you with my lack of output lately, you can rest assured that I will provide you with some substantive material with which to be disappointed every day for the next seven.
To remedy this, I am imposing a quota on myself. I will write something of meaning in my blog every day for the next week. Topics may include, but are not limited to:
- Today's brush with Dwight, and my somehow still growing disgust for him.
- Today's brush with an old friend and boss, who I have missed since "Bloody Friday."
- My recent visits to the doctor, or "It isn't that funny when you put on a rubber glove, and then say, 'Just Kidding.'"
- Pants: Yay or Nay?
- God.
- Golf with my Dad.
So, if I have been disappointing you with my lack of output lately, you can rest assured that I will provide you with some substantive material with which to be disappointed every day for the next seven.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Improved Covers
I don't mean to piggy-back off of Kit's occasional "The List" feature. But if you've known me for a while, you may be aware that I have a bit of a list problem myself.
The following is one that I have been mulling for awhile.
The list is of popular songs of which a cover version is seemingly more famous or beloved (EDIT 2/19 8:39PM: Not necessarily "better"...) than its original recording. I am going for performances with reasonable separation of time or style, so a "What Hurts the Most" wouldn't be on my list. I will begin the list by naming (to the best of my ability) the song, the original artist, and the cover artist.
- "Hound Dog" - Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton; Elvis Presley
- "Hard to Handle" - Otis Redding; The Black Crowes
- "I Swear" - John Michael Montgomery; All-4-One
- "I Can Love You Like That" - John Michael Montgomery; All-4-One
- "Bless the Broken Road" - The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band; Rascal Flatts
- "Callin' Baton Rouge" - New Grass Revival; Garth Brooks
- "Shameless" - Billy Joel; Garth Brooks
- "To Make You Feel My Love" - Bob Dylan, Garth Brooks (see a trend?)
- "Hurt" - Nine Inch Nails; Johnny Cash
- "I Will Always Love You" - Dolly Parton; Whitney Houston
- "On Broadway" - The Drifters; George Benson
- "Blueberry Hill" - Gene Autry or Glenn Miller; Fats Domino
- "Wind Beneath My Wings" - Roger Whittaker (!!!); Bette Midler
You can add to the list if you like by commenting, but for the love of God don't blow it.
The following is one that I have been mulling for awhile.
The list is of popular songs of which a cover version is seemingly more famous or beloved (EDIT 2/19 8:39PM: Not necessarily "better"...) than its original recording. I am going for performances with reasonable separation of time or style, so a "What Hurts the Most" wouldn't be on my list. I will begin the list by naming (to the best of my ability) the song, the original artist, and the cover artist.
- "Hound Dog" - Willie Mae "Big Mama" Thornton; Elvis Presley
- "Hard to Handle" - Otis Redding; The Black Crowes
- "I Swear" - John Michael Montgomery; All-4-One
- "I Can Love You Like That" - John Michael Montgomery; All-4-One
- "Bless the Broken Road" - The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band; Rascal Flatts
- "Callin' Baton Rouge" - New Grass Revival; Garth Brooks
- "Shameless" - Billy Joel; Garth Brooks
- "To Make You Feel My Love" - Bob Dylan, Garth Brooks (see a trend?)
- "Hurt" - Nine Inch Nails; Johnny Cash
- "I Will Always Love You" - Dolly Parton; Whitney Houston
- "On Broadway" - The Drifters; George Benson
- "Blueberry Hill" - Gene Autry or Glenn Miller; Fats Domino
- "Wind Beneath My Wings" - Roger Whittaker (!!!); Bette Midler
You can add to the list if you like by commenting, but for the love of God don't blow it.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Past
I'm not really sure what this is about...
It goes without saying, since she loves me and all, that Meghan is not your typical woman. One way in which this is true may seem insignificant to anyone who isn't intimately acquainted with my particularly potent brand of nerdiness and my need for a sustained immersion in the familiar. But it is most certainly not insignificant that Meghan likes to watch old band videos. At the end of dinner tonight, she said she would like to see the 2004 video (that of my last year with the band). I immediately sought out a waiter for a box.
From the second the video started, I was amazed at those people and how they oozed with personality and uniqueness. That little hint started this chain reaction of thoughts and recollections of all of these people from even further back. This separation I had finally achieved between myself and one million things about that group of people instantly disappeared. I had forgotten about several old friends, some of the traditions, and selected mental pictures and recordings I had made in wise moments of realizing that it wasn't going to last forever. At thirty frames per second, the past seems perfect.
I really did love the moments that were worthy of the highlight reel. That's why I stayed around for so long.
But the more I reflected, the deeper I crept into the memories of those days. I began to remember feeling behind, all the time. I started remembering the frustrations... pulling teeth to get support, managing varying levels of proficiency in those around you, choosing what to do poorly in order to be able to do everything, trying to wash the day away with a Jack and Dr. Pepper, being owned.
There were moments in those days that I hope I never forget - moments that, when recalled, continue to make me smile my honest smile and to summon a tear of fondness
But there were many more hours of film on the cutting room floor. Much of that footage wasn't very pretty.
It goes without saying, since she loves me and all, that Meghan is not your typical woman. One way in which this is true may seem insignificant to anyone who isn't intimately acquainted with my particularly potent brand of nerdiness and my need for a sustained immersion in the familiar. But it is most certainly not insignificant that Meghan likes to watch old band videos. At the end of dinner tonight, she said she would like to see the 2004 video (that of my last year with the band). I immediately sought out a waiter for a box.
From the second the video started, I was amazed at those people and how they oozed with personality and uniqueness. That little hint started this chain reaction of thoughts and recollections of all of these people from even further back. This separation I had finally achieved between myself and one million things about that group of people instantly disappeared. I had forgotten about several old friends, some of the traditions, and selected mental pictures and recordings I had made in wise moments of realizing that it wasn't going to last forever. At thirty frames per second, the past seems perfect.
I really did love the moments that were worthy of the highlight reel. That's why I stayed around for so long.
But the more I reflected, the deeper I crept into the memories of those days. I began to remember feeling behind, all the time. I started remembering the frustrations... pulling teeth to get support, managing varying levels of proficiency in those around you, choosing what to do poorly in order to be able to do everything, trying to wash the day away with a Jack and Dr. Pepper, being owned.
There were moments in those days that I hope I never forget - moments that, when recalled, continue to make me smile my honest smile and to summon a tear of fondness
But there were many more hours of film on the cutting room floor. Much of that footage wasn't very pretty.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Boobs! (and other far less significant bullets)
• I was sick for most of last week with what I would once have called "Strip Throat." If I have to be sick, that's about the best I can hope for... no puking, no grody pooping, little fever, and a sore throat.
• When I went to the doctor to check on my condition, I received a bit of a shock. The only things a doctor has ever told me to do were to stop a habit that I quit long ago, manage a habit which I recently began to manage, and to exercise. That changed last week. He told me two things, one of which was to lose weight. I am still a little blown away by this, since it was the first time I had heard it.
The other thing will be something I'll keep an eye on. I'll let you know if you need to know.
• Meghan is slated to be a bride's maid at a wedding this July. She went to Atlanta today with the other members of the wedding party for the second attempt to find dresses. As a part of the day, they all went to Intimacy for bra fittings.
Meghan reports a very unfriendly experience at the Atlanta branch of Intimacy, which is located at Phipps Plaza in Buckhead. After working with her "customer service" representative and sharing her opinions regarding this first couple of items she was given to try, the employee more or less left her in a room with twelve bras without offering further assistance. The employee could also be overheard telling another customer that she would prefer to work with her than Meghan, which the employee made apparent by not returning to the fitting room. That's about the time Meghan walked out.
• And in other news, I'm getting worried about Munson.
• When I went to the doctor to check on my condition, I received a bit of a shock. The only things a doctor has ever told me to do were to stop a habit that I quit long ago, manage a habit which I recently began to manage, and to exercise. That changed last week. He told me two things, one of which was to lose weight. I am still a little blown away by this, since it was the first time I had heard it.
The other thing will be something I'll keep an eye on. I'll let you know if you need to know.
• Meghan is slated to be a bride's maid at a wedding this July. She went to Atlanta today with the other members of the wedding party for the second attempt to find dresses. As a part of the day, they all went to Intimacy for bra fittings.
Meghan reports a very unfriendly experience at the Atlanta branch of Intimacy, which is located at Phipps Plaza in Buckhead. After working with her "customer service" representative and sharing her opinions regarding this first couple of items she was given to try, the employee more or less left her in a room with twelve bras without offering further assistance. The employee could also be overheard telling another customer that she would prefer to work with her than Meghan, which the employee made apparent by not returning to the fitting room. That's about the time Meghan walked out.
• And in other news, I'm getting worried about Munson.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
If you would like to witness the collapse of one part of the music industry as it happens, follow this story. The way I see it, the outcome of this will be the end of the major labels as we know them or the end of the songwriting profession as we know it. I'm sure you know what side I'm on.
(HT - Hagood)
(HT - Hagood)
Thursday, January 31, 2008
What?
You mean to tell me that UGA hasn't taken sexual harassment seriously in the past? I have never heard of such a thing.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
And in other news...
... a Starbuck's is closing. The cause of death was said to be a combination of the consumption of shitty coffee and an exploding head. (Ht: Lefsetz)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sick Day
I've been in the bed all day with a bug or imagined disorder related to one of the following causes: fatigue, strep throat, football withdrawal, Epstein-Barr Virus, Amazing Race withdrawal, the common cold, LOST anticipation, or avian flu. I'm not really sure, but I think it's probably a combination of all of the above.
Regardless of the cause of my incapacitation, it has left me with a lot of time to think. And that's not always a great idea...
• I have been enjoying a late bit of productivity in the songwriting department. Over the last year or so, I got into the bad habit of waiting to have a new idea before I wrote. Having finished the book to which I referred recently, I sat after the beginning of the year and began to focus more intently on my work. After several small victories, I realized once again that, by not writing every day, I rob myself of the benefit of my accidents. The results of my newfound productivity have made me smile.
• When I moved back to Athens in August, I decided that I was going to enjoy myself as much as possible while I was here. Because of this, I was paying very little attention to what I was eating, confident that I would be able to get back on track at a not-too-distant yet unspecified point in the future. After college football season ended, Meghan and I made a flexible pact to exercise and watch what we eat during the week, in exchange for looser guidelines on weekends.
Naturally, I have gained weight as a result. I have begun to notice that my old pants don't fit like they used to, and had considered buying new ones. Just to make sure I wasn't imagining things, I decided to weigh myself (which I don't do very often). I volunteered to Meghan that, if I weighed as much as a weight rhyming with schmoo-hundred-and-fifteen pounds, then I would immediately join a gym.
I stepped on the scale, and holy crap there was no way it said what it did. But it sure looked like it did. I was shocked.
I checked it again later, and realized that I had read it as being ten pounds more that it actually was. Nevertheless, it is still about fifteen pounds more than I feel is acceptable for me. Looks like I have some work to do.
• I did attend Geee-em-ee-YAY once again this year. It was, however, the shortest visit I have ever made to the conference. I left Athens at abut 6:30 on Friday morning, and was back by 4:30 on Saturday afternoon. I got lots done, and got just a little bit of time with friends. I did, however, get a very good book recommendation from a friend.
• I finally have pics of synchronized swimming. Enjoy.
Regardless of the cause of my incapacitation, it has left me with a lot of time to think. And that's not always a great idea...
• I have been enjoying a late bit of productivity in the songwriting department. Over the last year or so, I got into the bad habit of waiting to have a new idea before I wrote. Having finished the book to which I referred recently, I sat after the beginning of the year and began to focus more intently on my work. After several small victories, I realized once again that, by not writing every day, I rob myself of the benefit of my accidents. The results of my newfound productivity have made me smile.
• When I moved back to Athens in August, I decided that I was going to enjoy myself as much as possible while I was here. Because of this, I was paying very little attention to what I was eating, confident that I would be able to get back on track at a not-too-distant yet unspecified point in the future. After college football season ended, Meghan and I made a flexible pact to exercise and watch what we eat during the week, in exchange for looser guidelines on weekends.
Naturally, I have gained weight as a result. I have begun to notice that my old pants don't fit like they used to, and had considered buying new ones. Just to make sure I wasn't imagining things, I decided to weigh myself (which I don't do very often). I volunteered to Meghan that, if I weighed as much as a weight rhyming with schmoo-hundred-and-fifteen pounds, then I would immediately join a gym.
I stepped on the scale, and holy crap there was no way it said what it did. But it sure looked like it did. I was shocked.
I checked it again later, and realized that I had read it as being ten pounds more that it actually was. Nevertheless, it is still about fifteen pounds more than I feel is acceptable for me. Looks like I have some work to do.
• I did attend Geee-em-ee-YAY once again this year. It was, however, the shortest visit I have ever made to the conference. I left Athens at abut 6:30 on Friday morning, and was back by 4:30 on Saturday afternoon. I got lots done, and got just a little bit of time with friends. I did, however, get a very good book recommendation from a friend.
• I finally have pics of synchronized swimming. Enjoy.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Synchro de "Oh, My!"
Meghan, her father, and I went to a synchronized swimming meet today. Not in a million years did I ever think I would do this but I did.
Meghan's cousin is a member of the team that was coming to town to compete with Georgia's team (which is a club team). If the recap would have made the paper, the headline would have been something stupid like "Synchron-Ass-Kicking." Here's their version of the story.
It's totally boring to watch on television. And I don't suspect that you will find me becoming a season ticket holder. But it's definitely a much more demanding activity than it is often credited for being. And watching someone who knew what they were doing was more impressive than I thought it would be.
Still, during the weaker performances (all of which were by our club team) I couldn't help being reminded of this video.
Meghan's cousin is a member of the team that was coming to town to compete with Georgia's team (which is a club team). If the recap would have made the paper, the headline would have been something stupid like "Synchron-Ass-Kicking." Here's their version of the story.
It's totally boring to watch on television. And I don't suspect that you will find me becoming a season ticket holder. But it's definitely a much more demanding activity than it is often credited for being. And watching someone who knew what they were doing was more impressive than I thought it would be.
Still, during the weaker performances (all of which were by our club team) I couldn't help being reminded of this video.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Here's a short article in The Tennessean about the songwriting workshop I have mentioned here before. Sounds about right... ish.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Death of The Cool
If you're interested in the music business, you should read Bob Lefsetz. He is loud and keenly aware of the ineptitude of the major music labels. I don't know if anyone who matters is paying attention, but I hope someone is.
In one of his recent offerings, Bob compares the sales of the top ten albums of 2000 with the sales of the top ten of 2007. After showing (among other things) the disproportionately high drop in sales of the top albums versus the drop in total sales, he makes, and then develops, the following point:
People still want music. In prodigious amounts. They just don’t all want the same thing.
I find something marginally frightening and very interesting in the numbers and the conclusion he draws. I agree with him, and anyone who is paying attention knows that this isn't just happening in music.
Here is a list of the 100 top-grossing films of all time based on their box office gross and adjusted for inflation. You have to get all the way down to #19 before you hit a film (Star Wars: Episode I) that was released in the last ten years, and that was part of a franchise that is thirty years old. The next one? Shrek 2 at #29. A kids' movie! Next? Spider-man, based on a character that was created forty-five years ago. The reception of original material at the box office in the last ten years hasn't been nearly what it was before that time.
You can argue that that's a skewed way of looking at things. For a couple of bucks, you can get a crystal clear version of your favorite movie without moving your butt off the couch. So one would naturally think that people aren't going to the movies. But box office receipts reportedly have continued to trend up and outpace inflation for quite some time. People are going to the movies. They're just not going to the same movies as everyone on their block.
If you consider the changes over the last ten years in how we receive information, this should come as no surprise. I'm not telling you anything you don't know when I remind you that, ten years ago, you couldn't sneeze without finding a channel that played music videos. Flip channels for the next twenty-four hours and see if you can find an entire music video. If you were an Atlantan ten years ago, you listened to one of eight or nine major FM stations or a CD player when you were looking for music. Between the possibility of satellite radio (over 70 music channels on XM) and your iPod, your choices are far more numerous and customizable then they were back when. If you happen to hear a (or should I say "the") song by Starland Vocal Band on your radio, you can find similar material and own it virtually effortlessly, virtually immediately, from virtually anywhere. If you were bored in 1998, you may have rented a movie, or watched a VHS you owned. If you don't like anything on television this week, why not rent an entire season of an interesting series you have missed in the past? As of today, you will be able to do that from the comfort of your couch (which, if you're like me, is a couch that you did own ten years ago). Or you could, of course, watch any of the material you may have recorded with the touch of a button in perfect quality on your DVR on any of your 100-or-so television channels.
The point is not so much to be amazed at how much technology has changed as it is to realize how many more choices we have about the content we absorb.
Furthermore, there is a very good chance that you spend much more of your day isolated than you did ten years ago. I don't have the numbers to prove it, but I know that the number of phone conversations I have is a fraction of what it was ten years ago because of the ability to communicate by email, web site, IM, or text message. I know that I am much more likely to bury myself in my iPod on an air travel day than I would have been to haul around a significant portion of my CD collection. And long gone are many of the accidental conversations, the small talk, the word of mouth, and the shared impressions of our common experiences. I will listen to my Steely Dan and scarcely notice you and your Shins, Imogen Heap, Kenny Chesney, or Soulja Boy.
How many of this week's Top 10 singles do you know? My money says less than three for anyone who reads this, simply because no one is telling you what is cool.
We are as isolated from each other and as free to choose what content we absorb than at any time since the rise of the cities. Because of this, we share fewer common influences than at any time in memory. Ubiquity in media rides off into the sunset. For most everyone except the lonely middle-schooler trying to get some attention, "Cool" is dead.
So, what does all of this mean? I don't know. You can read Bob for some opinions. Or your can read Alvin Toffler, who said he saw this coming. I think the bottom line is that we live in a time in which I can more or less do my thing, and you can do yours. Hopefully, that's good enough for the people calling the shots.
In one of his recent offerings, Bob compares the sales of the top ten albums of 2000 with the sales of the top ten of 2007. After showing (among other things) the disproportionately high drop in sales of the top albums versus the drop in total sales, he makes, and then develops, the following point:
People still want music. In prodigious amounts. They just don’t all want the same thing.
I find something marginally frightening and very interesting in the numbers and the conclusion he draws. I agree with him, and anyone who is paying attention knows that this isn't just happening in music.
Here is a list of the 100 top-grossing films of all time based on their box office gross and adjusted for inflation. You have to get all the way down to #19 before you hit a film (Star Wars: Episode I) that was released in the last ten years, and that was part of a franchise that is thirty years old. The next one? Shrek 2 at #29. A kids' movie! Next? Spider-man, based on a character that was created forty-five years ago. The reception of original material at the box office in the last ten years hasn't been nearly what it was before that time.
You can argue that that's a skewed way of looking at things. For a couple of bucks, you can get a crystal clear version of your favorite movie without moving your butt off the couch. So one would naturally think that people aren't going to the movies. But box office receipts reportedly have continued to trend up and outpace inflation for quite some time. People are going to the movies. They're just not going to the same movies as everyone on their block.
If you consider the changes over the last ten years in how we receive information, this should come as no surprise. I'm not telling you anything you don't know when I remind you that, ten years ago, you couldn't sneeze without finding a channel that played music videos. Flip channels for the next twenty-four hours and see if you can find an entire music video. If you were an Atlantan ten years ago, you listened to one of eight or nine major FM stations or a CD player when you were looking for music. Between the possibility of satellite radio (over 70 music channels on XM) and your iPod, your choices are far more numerous and customizable then they were back when. If you happen to hear a (or should I say "the") song by Starland Vocal Band on your radio, you can find similar material and own it virtually effortlessly, virtually immediately, from virtually anywhere. If you were bored in 1998, you may have rented a movie, or watched a VHS you owned. If you don't like anything on television this week, why not rent an entire season of an interesting series you have missed in the past? As of today, you will be able to do that from the comfort of your couch (which, if you're like me, is a couch that you did own ten years ago). Or you could, of course, watch any of the material you may have recorded with the touch of a button in perfect quality on your DVR on any of your 100-or-so television channels.
The point is not so much to be amazed at how much technology has changed as it is to realize how many more choices we have about the content we absorb.
Furthermore, there is a very good chance that you spend much more of your day isolated than you did ten years ago. I don't have the numbers to prove it, but I know that the number of phone conversations I have is a fraction of what it was ten years ago because of the ability to communicate by email, web site, IM, or text message. I know that I am much more likely to bury myself in my iPod on an air travel day than I would have been to haul around a significant portion of my CD collection. And long gone are many of the accidental conversations, the small talk, the word of mouth, and the shared impressions of our common experiences. I will listen to my Steely Dan and scarcely notice you and your Shins, Imogen Heap, Kenny Chesney, or Soulja Boy.
How many of this week's Top 10 singles do you know? My money says less than three for anyone who reads this, simply because no one is telling you what is cool.
We are as isolated from each other and as free to choose what content we absorb than at any time since the rise of the cities. Because of this, we share fewer common influences than at any time in memory. Ubiquity in media rides off into the sunset. For most everyone except the lonely middle-schooler trying to get some attention, "Cool" is dead.
So, what does all of this mean? I don't know. You can read Bob for some opinions. Or your can read Alvin Toffler, who said he saw this coming. I think the bottom line is that we live in a time in which I can more or less do my thing, and you can do yours. Hopefully, that's good enough for the people calling the shots.
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