07-12-2002 04:58 PM
________________________________________
I Do the Things That I Don’t Wanna Do
OK, eye doctor, where are the funky specs that you told me would be here this week? I need to look sassy; I think I am going out with a lady tonight. A laaaaaady. I feels bad… I am half-blowing off Blem and Stank to go out with this laaaaaady. Ho hum. I try to get them tomorrow night. And I’m still gonna do dinner with them.
Blew out last night with the Linda’s crowd, stayed and drank until about 10. Which, in print, doesn’t sound like much of a blowout, but we start at 5 and usually wander off to our respective lives at 6:30 or so. I’ve been drinking with that crew for seven years now, which is a little bit surreal. Other than improv, I think it’s my longest-standing commitment.
Aside from the drinking, Linda’s was mostly uneventful. Ellen got laid repeatedly in France, and is now having romantic visions of faraway places. Tara brough this cat Tom who does goth drag sometimes, and he argued that Ted Williams was not a great ballplayer because a) the Sox didn’t win the World Series with him, and b) he was a sub-par left-fielder. He then proceeded to tell us that he didn’t know who Barry Bonds was.
The new Guided by Voices is rocking me pretty hard right now. And the beer I had at lunch is making me sleepy. Which sucks, since I slept until 10:30 today.
07-13-2002 11:14 AM
________________________________________
Run Through Your Gates
So my date with Miss Durak last night was an unqualified success. We met at a French wine bar in Durham (next door to Pizza Palace, the old-school 70’s pizzeria that somehow survived the PizzaHutification of America), sat and drank win and talked for three hours. The waiter was clearly into her– he’d seen her in there before, and when she went to the bathroom at one point, he stopped to ask me “what’s with you and her?” and was very disappointed when I told him that it was a date.
Normally, when I tell someone I do improv, it irks me if they ask me to do something funny. I guess because it’s so damn common. But Lora asked me instead if I would improvise something for her… no request for funny, just “improvise for me.” I didn’t really want to tell her that it was all I had been doing all night– this date was all performance, but aren’t most first dates when the dating impetus is as artificial as this one?
So I told her that if she gave me a word, I would just tell her a story– this was my one-man show. Which I thought was self-centered, because who wants to go on a date and only hear the other person talk for 10-15 minutes at a time? But this delighted her. And I guess when I noticed that, I was kind of pumped, because all I had to do was tell a fun story and she was all about it.
So she gave me the word “science,” since she knew I was an English major and figured that it would be hard. An abbreviated version of the story follows:
My high school chemistry class was taught by a woman named Linda Phillips, whose one real accomplishment in life was spawning a Miss North Carolina. I usually sat next to Wes Schollander, who was named one of President Bush’s 1000 Points of Light in 1991 because he’d adopted a park that he made a bunch of cub scouts keep tidy through coercion. Wes cheated off of me relentlessly, as did most everyone in the class; I seriously may have been the only one who studied (except for Isabel Newton and Eleanor Carson, but they sat in the very front of the classroom, and were, quite frankly, bigger nerds even than I). And Linda Phillips was clueless to it all. We often joked that the scores radiated outward from my desk.
At some point, Wes and I formulated a bet: we would take the test score from our next test, multiply it by three for a possible 300 points, then each bowl one game, and whoever got the higher combined score would win whatever we decided the stakes would be. (Something unimportant, since I can’t remember. It may have been who wore the bowtie when we hosted the high school talent show.) Hitch: Wes could not cheat.
This was difficult for Wes; he always cheated off of me. So we devised the cheat-proof helmet– a Star Wars-style helmet with a set of blinders that would allow Wes to look only at his own paper, and make any attempts to cheat absolutely impossible.
We brought the helmet to class, and Wes tells Linda Phillips that he wants to wear this cheat-proof helmet. “I will cheat like I always do if you don’t let me,” he told her. She laughed, and told him no, he could not wear the helmet. “But Miss Phillips,” he exclaimed in absolute earnest, “if you don’t let me wear the helmet, I will end up cheating!” No dice. She laughed some more, and sent us to our seats.
Wes tried to not cheat, he really did, but after about 15 questions, he was so demoralized about the failure to use the spectacular cheat-proof helmet that he gave up and whispered to me that the bet was off. And started looking at my paper. But then, I guess frustrated as hell, he blurted out: “Miss Phillips, look, I am cheating. I am so cheating on this test.” And she chuckled and told him to be quiet.
Wes made quite a show of copying off me that day– leaning into the aisles, making any noise he could to indicate to her that she should look and catch him cheating on the test. And she would look right at him, smile, and go back to reading.
When the tests came back, I had a 98 or something pretty good; Wes had an 87, and had basically missed only the questions that he had tried on his own in the first few minutes of the test. Scribbled under his grade: “Good work, Wes, I knew you could do it!”
As I told the story, I was thinking to myself, “What would Ian Roberts be doing at this point in the story?” I was consciously trying to let the game rest, to take the tangents wherever I thought they would be fun, then coming back and hitting the game. It was the first time I had consciously applied Mullaney’s notes about the natural flow of a scene to just me, to a story. And to a date.
Miss Durak and I are going out again next week.
07-15-2002 08:27 PM
________________________________________
Into Chicago at Night
I am back from a few days in Greensboro, during which I was offline most of the time. Dan and Anthony decided that I was hurt or dead during this time; Anthony even called to check on me. I am seriously touched by the concern, but a little mystified.
I do have great fucking friends.
Found myself in a deep contemplative period driving back, like I had hit a crossroads or one of those defining moments in life, but could not put a finger on just why I felt that way. And as I pulled into Durham, this came into my head, almost fully formed. I am not sure if it’s crap or something truly revelatory. I am happy to have written it.
I WILL DREAM YOU BACK TO ME AND WAKE
Dear lost love, this afternoon,
driving down I-85,
I swore for a moment
that I could smell ocean,
and I keenly believed
that the years without you
were a sunny dream
and I would certainly wake
to your hair on the pillow.
And, tranquil, I drove
until that world caved in
like sun in my eyes,
and I found myself back
in my car, singing
“I Am Trying to Break Your Heart”
and smiling, and the ocean smell
melted into wind,
and I thought surely
I would wake as a crab.
07-16-2002 10:26 PM
________________________________________
Over the Night We Met
I have sassy glasses! I am so hot now, I cannot even begin to be stopped!
Truly, though, I got these sassy glasses after waiting two weeks, only to come to the horrible realization– they are way too similar to Lora’s glasses. How horrible to show up for a second date with matching glasses. I will most certainly commit this faux pas. So, now the question is, do girls with sassy glasses love boys with sassy glasses?
I haven’t said much about what I’ve been up to for the past couple of days. Capsule reviews…
Saturday: Went on a date in the afternoon with Sarah, a girl who just kinda called me out of the blue. I had fun– Putt Putt never fails to satisfy me– but I definitely don’t want to get into anything with Sarah. I think I was mostly just thrilled that I had two dates in 18 hours after having none for three months. Then ate dinner with Blem, Stank, and Pridge for the second night in a row. The leftover meatloaf is in the fridge still, and will go uneaten. Jatovi and I played Outlaw Golf for X-Box and it was awesome.
Sunday: Had a conference in Greensboro, so woke up earlier than I wanted to. Then the session was a nightmare– the mobile lab didn’t work and clearly hadn’t been tested. Fucking sucked. Female Thom Yorke came in to say hello. Ha! Drove back for Destroy All Monsters rehearsal. We worked feverishly on identifying the game of the scene. It was the first time in a while that I was both playing and directing. I didn’t like it a lot, but the rest of the Monsters said they were learning. I wish we had our own LMD of Jane Borden.
Monday: Drove back in the wee hours to Greensboro for the second day of the session, which went smoothly and I got great evaluations. I did about 15 minutes of just crowdwork after lunch, which got one woman laughing so hard that she cried. Read Elektra at dinner (in which a guy figures out that he is a Life Model Decoy, or LMD, and is just a self-aware android). Worried friends. Poem.
Tuesday: Clashes with Lex Luthor. Long dinner with WRay. Left about 12 things that I wanted to do undone. Found out I am 50% gay like 20 minutes after volunteering to bunk with Bobby or Duff when I get sent out on the road if we need to save money. (Lori came in as I completed the test, and said, “Maybe I should get you a single room, or you’ll end up at 75%.”) Need to work on submission guidelines for THE ZYGOTE and Destroy All Monsters flyers.
07-17-2002 09:31 PM
________________________________________
Say the Words That I Can’t Say
The whole Allen Iverson thing is ridiculous. I don’t know which is worse– that there is a media frenzy because a jealous husband broke in some doors looking for his wife, or the police report that blood was found in his car… which was later retracted (bet it was ketchup), or that Iverson clearly thinks he is above the law and whatever wrongdoing he has done is permissable because he plays basketball. I feel bad that nowhere in any of this has anyone stopped to consider his wife, who is probably the one suffering the worst in the whole ordeal. I can’t believe that this whole ordeal just increases his marketability. But it does. People buy the image of Allen Iverson. This shit makes me sick.
Had dinner with Derek and Liz, who will soon be Mr. and Mrs. Welvang. Marriage scares the holy living shit out of me. I’m in the mood to curse up a storm. Moreso than usual. And I’m usually pretty foul-mouthed.
I’m terrified at the moment of being average, or worse, blissfully stupid.
07-18-2002 12:15 PM
________________________________________
I Can’t See Straight, But the Two of You Look Awful Pretty
I have been sent home from work.
I slept like 11 hours last night– an outrageous amount for me on a weeknight. Woke up dragging; assumed that it was from too much sleep. Got to work for the class I am co-teaching with Duff and Lex Luthor, and felt worse. I was finally forced to admit what I think I have known for days: I have the flu.
So I should be happy that I can come home and sleep, but I am not. Bill and Jess ended up having to teach my sections of the course, and I know they don’t feel confident. And I feel terrible about leaving. It’s probably fine– this will be the best way for Jess to really learn this stuff, and I have absolute confidence in Bill. But I hate not being there. I feel like I’m letting someone or something down.
I’d like to believe, despite the fact that it flies in the face of medical science, that our minds have absolute control over our bodies. That we can, if we focus, find illness on a cellular level, and fight it with will. I have often noticed that when I am sick, my mood will have everything to do with getting well. If I let myself be helpless, I stay sick. If I stay happy and positive, I am well soon.
And sometimes, when I know I truly want to feel great, I start trying to think about my body, and then break it down into its component parts, organs and bone. And then go deeper, and think of myself as a collection of cells and fluids, and start seeing whatever virus is there, and then visualize the cells fighting each strand of invading RNA.
It helps sometimes. I wonder if there are monks out there who have made a practice of this for many centuries and live quietly, peacefully, intently. And could we all do it, if the world weren’t so busy, so distracting that sometimes you just can’t imagine yourself being better?
07-19-2002 01:05 AM
________________________________________
This is Sale or Return
A couple of people have written and said that they recognized the title of an entry, or asked if I had taken a line from their favorite song. Three asked if I’d list where all the journal titles came from, so here they are, in order (rule of threes– ask three times and I have to do it):
eels, “Novacaine for the Soul”
Guided by Voices, “Shocker in Gloomtown”*
Mickey & Sylvia, “Love is Strange”
System of a Down, “Deer Dance”
The Comas, “Tiger in a Tower”
that dog., “Lip Gloss”
Red Five, “Turn it On”
Phantom Planet, “Recently Distressed”
Nada Surf, “Mother’s Day”
Letters to Cleo, “I Got Time”
Throwing Muses, “Shark”
Liz Phair, “Mesmerizing”
Autoclave, “Summer”
Throwing Muses, “Surf Cowboy”
Sneaker Pimps, “6 Underground”
Superdrag, “Wrong vs. Right Doesn’t Matter”
Furslide, “Skinny Girl”
Furslide, “Love Song”
eels, “Flower”
Radiohead, “Polyethylene, Parts 1 and 2″
Firewater, “Bad World”
R.E.M., “Electrolyte”
Mr. Bungle, “Stubb a Dub”
Throwing Muses, “Teller”
The Strokes, “Is This It?”
Pixies, “Alec Eiffel”
They Might Be Giants, “No One Knows My Plan”
Lionrock, “Fire Up the Shoesaw”
eels, “Woman Driving, Man Sleeping”
Throwing Muses, “Teller”
Bjork, “Army of Me”
Symposium, “The End”
Bis, “Black Pepper”
Firewater, “Green Light”
Paul McCartney, “Spinnin’ on an Axis”
Nada Surf, “Mother’s Day”
Superdrag, “The Art of Dying”
Fugazi, “Instrument”
The Verve Pipe, “She Has Faces”
Fetchin Bones, “Astronaut”
Mary’s Danish, “Hoof”
Sarah Harmer, “Coffee Stain”
that dog., “Long Island”
Cake, “Never There”
Soul Coughing, “Maybe I’ll Come Down”
DJ Shadow, “Midnight in a Perfect World”
Bis, “Beats at the Office”
Dr. Octagon, “3000″
Soul Coughing, “Sleepless”
Kristin Hersh, “A Loon”
Radiohead, “Black Star”
Letters to Cleo, “Demon Rock”
Jurassic 5, “Quality Control”
Throwing Muses, “Ellen West”
Jimmy Eat World, “Sweetness”
B-52’s, “Good Stuff”
Kristin Hersh, “Like You”
Sneaker Pimps, “Low Place Like Home”
Bis, “Chicago”
White Stripes, “Hotel Yorba”
Luscious Jackson, “Love is Here”
Body Count, “There Goes the Neighborhood”
Breeders, “Forced to Drive”
Breeders, “Sinister Foxx”
Breeders, “Doe”
Pixies, “Break My Body”
Pixies, “Break My Body”
Breeders, “Little Fury”
Le Tigre, “Tres Bien”
Le Tigre, “Hot Topic”
Breeders, “Off You”
Ben Folds Five, “Army”
Clutch, “Big News”
Papa Roach, “Last Resort”
Get-Up Kids, “Ten Minutes”
DJ Shadow, “Walkie Talkie”
Breeders, “London Song”
Superdrag, “The Art of Dying”
Luscious Jackson, “Roses Fade”
Le Tigre, “Keep on Living”
DJ Shadow, “Right Thing/GDMFSOB”
Shirley Bassey, “Where Do I Begin”
At the Drive-In, “One-Armed Scissor”
Fuzzy, “Glad Again”
Kristin Hersh, “Like You”
Soul Coughing, “The Idiot Kings”
Breeders, “Little Fury”
Le Tigre, “Slideshow at Free University”
Alkaline Trio, “Cooking Wine”
Clutch, “Escape from the Prison Planet”
Muzzle, “Complicated”
Beth Orton, “Stolen Car”
Superdrag, “Gimme Animosity”
The Front, “Ritual”
Pixies, “In Heaven”
R.E.M., “You’re in the Air”
System of a Down, “Science”
Deftones, “My Own Summer”
Verve Pipe, “Generations”
Letters to Cleo, “Demon Rock”
Guided by Voices, “Teenage FBI”
Superchick, “Holy Moment”**
Liz Phair, “Stratford-on-Guy”
Breeders, “The She”
Frente, “Bizarre Love Triangle”***
Alkaline Trio, “Cooking Wine”
Bis, “Sale or Return”
*Also covered by the Breeders. I don’t know which I was thinking of when I was wrote that second entry. Probably the Breeders.
**Yeah, I know it’s Christian rock. Creepy, but there’s this one Christian rock band that I just love.
***I know, I know, it’s a New Order song. I’ll listen to the Frente version at the drop of a hat, though. The New Order version was playing the other night while I was waiting outside a Ruby Tuesday’s, and all I wanted to hear was the Frente version. I’ll take sweet girly vocals over Europop any day.
Here’s what I am listening to now. Mike McDonald’s story about Faye Dunaway is awesome.
07-19-2002 05:09 PM
________________________________________
This Whole World Needs an Anthem
A TRUE ACCOUNT OF MY DATE WITH HALLE BERRY’S BOOB
For the record, I’d just like to say that I had never met Halle Berry. I’d heard this and that about her. Some people love her, some people hate her, a lot of people like myself have seen her perform and know only her stage persona. But one thing I think everyone can agree is true: she likes to show off her boobs.
Little known fact: while Halle lives in the East Village, her boobs share a plush two-bedroom loft in midtown. Though you can’t get a straight answer as to why they won’t live with Halle, one suspects that it’s because she’s just too high-fashion for them.
I met Halle’s left boob on 43rd St. We were both standing in line to buy bananas from a street vendor; I was on my way to an acting class, and Halle’s boob was getting some fresh air. I struck up a conversation with the boob in the most awkward manner. I just couldn’t help it, though. We were both in line, and I recognized it. Don’t stare. Don’t stare. Breasts hate that. But I couldn’t help noticing. I mean, this was Halle Berry’s boob, for chrissakes. So I sheepishly said, “Excuse me, aren’t you Halle Berry’s boob?” Knowing full well that it was. But I was still a little relieved when it nodded yes.
I fumbled through an awkward conversation: “Wow, nice to meet you. I’m Ross. So what’s it like to be Halle Berry’s boob?” A shrug. “Is the money good?” A shake for no. “Interesting. I suppose you love it, then.” A shrug. “Really? It seems like the exposure would be good for your career.” A shrug.
I stammered from that point on. I don’t know how, but I managed to ask the boob on a date. And it nodded yes. Like it was just surprised I hadn’t asked for an autograph.
We agreed to meet on a Thursday night at Float. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Float is so nine months ago. But I’d seen Leo DiCaprio there, and it was the first place I could think of that was worthy of a breast like Halle Berry’s.
See, that’s the hitch: you can’t just take a breast anywhere. You can’t hit clubs that are too crowded, because then other guys will be all over the boob. Boobs have to be romanced on a first date! They need flirtation, dashing conversation, some anticipation! I’d made the amateur mistakes when I went out with Larissa Halstead’s right breast (it was really just more of a jug) in eleventh grade. You can’t just meet a boob and have your tongue all over it. That’s bad form. At the risk of sounding crude, what boobs want on a night out is titillation. Excitement. Mystery. The things they can’t get when they’re working, and a girl is going through the motions of being felt up.
We met at 11, and found a table in the back corner. Float was definitely on its way down. There were a lot of wannabes there, and the only celebrities were b-grade or worse. Vince Van Patten was nursing a Cosmopolitan and chatting with Kelly McGillis, Bronson Pinchot was smoking a joint with Jose Canseco, and Justine Bateman was dry-humping Mindy Cohn while Prodigy’s “Firestarter” was playing but lost interest when DJ Krush came on.
It was too loud; I don’t think that the boob could hear me very well. I tried to be witty, but just kept failing… I guess that I was intimidated, or there’s only so much irony that a boob can handle on a date. A couple of people stopped at the table to talk to Halle’s breast; the guy from Carnosaur stood and leered so long that finally it wanted to leave. I realized when we were on the street that I had forgotten to pay for our Midori Sours. I hoped Halle Berry’s boob wouldn’t notice. I thought about going back in, but the boob was already hailing a cab.
Then, a voice from down the street. “Hey! Left boob!”
Shit. It was Halle Berry and the right boob. “Where the fuck were you? We had a show!” Berry was pissed. The right boob was heaving.
“Whoa,” I said. “Chill out. It’s cool.”
“Who the fuck are you? My boob’s boyfriend now?” she screamed. I was stunned. She went back to berating the boob. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Madonna’s tit? Fuck no, bitch. Get in this shirt right fucking now!”
The boob turned to me and gave a hangdog look. It sagged a little. I stepped forward to kiss it goodnight, suddenly full of sympathy and tenderness for this breast, finally seeing that it wanted something more out of life than to just hang out of a shirt and be gawked at. But it had already turned towards Halle and seemed resigned to go with her.
“Will I see you again?” I asked.
“Of course you’ll fucking see it again,” Halle Berry said, and, left boob in place, she walked off into the night.
07-20-2002 03:20 AM
________________________________________
Hello, I Missed Your Call
I played my first shortform show since taking the intensives tonight. I think I had more fun than anyone around me. It was well-received by the audience; I think some of the other players were irritated because I was pretty slow and deliberate. I just wasn’t going to be rushed. Good times, though.
Had what was supposed to be a date with a new girl, Shannon, who works with Jim Regan. Then kinda got roped into the show– she came and sat with Dr. Wade, which I felt guilty about. We went back to her place so I could blow-dry my jeans after Clayton poured water all over me at the end of the show, and didn’t leave there until midnight… just hanging out talking.
We went to Harris Teeter for some midnight cereal, where I discovered my new passion in life: an EnviroKids cereal called Organic Gorilla Munch. Also known as Kix, when packaged in an orange box. But how the hell was I supposed to resist something called Organic Gorilla Munch? I think my new stage name will be O. Gorilla Munch.
Shannon and I never really got around to the date. It was more of a hang-out (one that lasted until 2 AM). Which was fine by me. I’m into this newfound “go out with loads of people” thing.
Earlier today, there was a preying mantis on my screen door. Fascinating creature. I talked to him for about 15 minutes in a Zorak voice.
07-21-2002 11:37 AM
________________________________________
I Am the Chill That’s in the Air
A very drunk Ross V. White proclaimed that he would fight anyone who tampered with his Organic Gorilla Munch. He slapped David Carbonell at least 30 times throughout the night for mangling the Organic Gorilla Munch packaging when he was not looking. He later ended up at the Harris Teeter, browsing the cereal aisle, loudly telling David Carbonell, “I am the Organic Gorilla Munch!”
Then he watched The Royal Tenenbaums, and left his new box of cereal in the car.
07-21-2002 03:00 PM
________________________________________
In Your Head
I recently read the list of the 100 albums (http://www.jaguaro.org/feature/03-09-02_wesk.shtml) you should remove from your collection immediately. Fuck that noise. I found it really pretentious (though I think the assessment of U2 was pretty dead on). So I decided I could do better… and to bring a modicum of honesty and un-pretension, I have only included records that can be found in my own collection. (It still comes off as pretentious. What can I say? I love lists like this. I can be kind of a compulsive list-maker. I often find myself trying to list my 100 favorite songs or 50 favorite albums. I am usually unable to do so.)
I should say that my CD/cassette/record collection is huge, after working in a CD store, several years of obsessive scavenging in used CD bins, and reviewing for a couple of places. So I have a lot of crap, and a lot of stuff that’s OK but I just don’t listen to much any more. The list that follows is just twenty CDs that are off the top of my head—I didn’t even bother to go downstairs and look at what else I have down there. And I don’t count things that I brought home for free and planned to go sell elsewhere but just never got around to, like America Will Die Slowly or Tony Bennett. These are records that I honestly bought or chose to take home, and that I should ditch. So should you.
The Top Twenty Records I Should Remove From My Own Collection, And You Should Remove From Yours
1. Paul Simon – Graceland (freebie from DGR)
Oh my God, do I really own the album with “You Can Call Me Al” on it? Yeah, sadly, I still do. I brought this one home as a freebie sometime during my five years at Disc-Go-Round; it was too scratched to sell but would still play in my CD player. I listened to it once, because I really want to like Paul Simon. But fuck, since about 1980, he’s been a better SNL host than songwriter.
2. Tori Amos – Boys for Pele ($7.99, DGR)
Don’t get me wrong, I loved… loved… Under the Pink, and I got along well with Little Earthquakes. I was so excited when this record came out that I didn’t even care that Tori was suckling a pig on the album cover. (Too hip!) But everything I dislike about Tori Amos, including the “I draw heavy breaths into the microphone after every line” was in full force with this album. It’s been on the shelf since about nine days after it was released in 1996, and I never bought a Tori Amos release again. (I did get her next one for free. That sucked less.)
3. The Cranberries – No Need to Argue (BMG)
OK, lemme see if this works… “IT’S IN YOUR HEAD, IN YOUR HE-EE-YEAAA-EDD, ZOMBIE ZO-OMBIE ZO-OM-BAY-EE-A-EE-A-EE-A-EE.” Yup. It’s in your head.
4. The Lemonheads – It’s a Shame About Ray (freebie from DGR)
Fuck Evan Dando in the eye. I even kind of like Hate Your Friends. But this album blows. I guess this was about the time that he became bigger than his music or the rest of his band, despite having only marginal talent for songwriting.
5. Elton John – Greatest Hits, Vol. 3 (BMG)
Thank you, BMG Music. You convinced me one Saturday while I was still in college that I really needed to hear “Empty Garden” again. And for that, I thank you. I wish you would stop sending me those goddamn cards. You should know by now that I will not return them to you, you will send me CDs that I do not want and will not pay for, and you will be unable to catch me. Since my name, as far as your are concerned, is Parker Lewis. (Best pseudonym ever, though: Jim Regan signed up for a credit card at a Hurricanes game as Eddie Shore. Awesome.)
6. Teenage Fanclub – Bandwagonesque ($5.99, DGR)
Remember when Spin named this their album of the year? That was bandwagonesque too. (I ended up with this album after falling in love for about six weeks with the follow-up, Thirteen. Now I just listen to Big Star when I want to hear a Teenage Fanclub song. Get it right from the source.)
7. Jeff Buckley – Grace ($2.99, CD Cellar)
Remind me again why this album is such a classic? Boring.
8. The Fatima Mansions – Viva Dead Ponies ($0.50, Schoolkids)
From the 50 cent bin at Schoolkids records; I think my copy used to belong to WXYC, who clearly deemed it too mainstream because it was not Indian folk songs mixed with whale humping noises. (And thanks to Michael Delaney, I know that whales don’t even get to go down the glory road when humping.) I remember reading about the Fatima Mansions a lot in the early 90’s, but I don’t remember ever hearing them anywhere except the two times I listened to this piece of shit. I think later they got some press by covering a Bryan Adams song, which was pretty last-ditch.
9. Duran Duran – Liberty (cassette: $9.99, Sam Goody; CD: $7.99, CD Warehouse)
I will admit, I love Duran Duran. I own everything they have ever recorded, except for Night Versions, which I never successfully found a used copy of. Duran Duran can do no wrong in my eyes. Seriously. I love them. I blame this album on the drummer, who appeared ONLY on this album. He clearly mind-controlled Simon, Nick, and John, and Warren was too new at that time to fight with him.
10. Curve – Cuckoo ($7.99, DGR)
When I was a college freshman, the stoner across the hall had a wall-sized Curve poster in his room, and I always thought it was a cool-as-shit poster. I could never figure out who Curve was, though, as this chump spent all of his time listening to the Gin Blossoms. I discovered Curve when Come Clean came out, and I loved that, so I went back in time and bought old Curve stuff. This one, I should have left on the shelf.
11. Jesus Jones – Doubt ($6.00, Record Exchange)
I was 16 when I bought this. “Right Here Right Now” was on the radio a lot. Including this record was difficult, because I put “Trust Me” on a mix CD for a friend less than 18 months ago.
12. Public Image Ltd. – 9 ($4.00, Schoolkids)
So by the time I was old enough to really be into music, these assholes had pretty much sunk to the bottom of the barrel. Or hell, maybe they were always there—I never bothered to listen to anything else they did. “Disappointed” was pretty kick-ass when I was 16.
13. The Cardigans – First Band on the Moon (freebie, DGR)
Another scratched disc. Jesus Christ, people paid for this? Within six months of its release, we rarely had less than eight copies hanging around Disc-Go-Round, and we were still selling them at $7.99 a pop. Which is fucking ridiculous. Had mp3s been hip when this record came out, they would have sold 20,000 copies and had a huge Internet hit. I don’t honestly believe that mp3 will kill the record industry, unless they are hoping we will buy shit like this.
14. Aerosmith – Pump (cassette: $9.99, Record Convergence; CD: freebie, DGR)
I admit that I own everything Aerosmith until this album, and not a damn thing afterwards. “Janie’s Got a Gun,” great. “Love in an Elevator,” sure. “F.I.N.E,” fuck no. After Permanent Vacation, which was like my favorite album in the world when I was 14, I was pretty pissed to get this disc. Which must have been a sign that I grew up some between 14 and 16, because in retrospect, they weren’t all that different, musically.
15. Boston – Boston ($1.99, CD Cellar)
I think this must be the single best example of an incredible fucking song (“More Than a Feeling,” which I will play on any jukebox) propelling a band to cosmic record sales, despite the fact that the only thing interesting about them aside from their one monster single is the drummer’s awesome white-guy ‘fro.
16. The B-52’s – Cosmic Thing (BMG)
We all love “Love Shack.” I don’t think any of us actively seek it out any more. It just happens to us now.
17. Foreigner – Records (cassette: stolen from my dad; CD: $3.00, DGR)
I shouldn’t even include this one, because I will admit that I still get a hankerin’ to hear “Hot Blooded,” “Juke Box Hero,” and “Urgent” pretty regularly. I just have them in mp3 format for when that occasion arises.
18. Billy Joel – Storm Front (bought it from Ant, unsure what I paid)
I do like Billy Joel. He put on a monster show at the MCI Center when we went. I still think The Bridge and Glass Houses rule. But this CD blows chunks. And I think it was probably one of his best sellers. I ended up with this one when I gave Anthony a Billy box set for his birthday one year, so he had an extra copy of this album which I offered to buy from him. This was stupid. If I hear “We Didn’t Start the Fire” ever again, I may shoot myself. It pains me to think that children are learning high school history from this song. Anthony, whatever I paid you for this CD, I want it back.
19. Blur – Parklife ($7.99, DGR)
I like Blur as much as the next guy. I own like seven of their albums. I listen to maybe three of them.
20. Talking Heads – Naked (BMG)
Now, see, if I had known that they would eventually do a greatest hits set, I would have just gone ahead and purchased that. (For the record, I never did get around to purchasing that. I think I have the second disc as a freebie from DGR, but honestly, I’d have to go downstairs and look to verify.) I was pretty glad when Talking Heads broke up; I knew at that point that they had well outlived their relevance, and listening to this album, their affinity for making music with each other.
For comparison purposes, I will include 20 albums that you probably think I should remove from my collection, but that I am definitely keeping.
Winger ; Ace of Base – The Sign; Peter Frampton – Frampton Comes Alive!; Phantom Planet Is Missing; Technotronic – Pump Up the Jam; Motley Crue – Dr. Feelgood; Red Hot Chili Peppers – One Hot Moment; Everclear – Songs from an American Movie, Vol 1; Various Artists – A Life Less Ordinary soundtrack; Digital Underground – Sex Packets; Skid Row; Happy Mondays – Pills ‘n’ Thrills and Bellyaches ; Sheryl Crow – Tuesday Night Music Club; Porno for Pyros – Good God’s Urge; The Power Station – The Power Station; Tesla – The Great Radio Controversy; Prince – Chaos & Disorder; The Presidents of the United States of America; Green Day – Dookie; Spice Girls – Spiceworld
Note: In all likelihood, I will not remove a single one of these albums from my collection.
07-22-2002 03:59 PM
________________________________________
You Came Here Just to Check Me Out and See
My prognosis on the new Flaming Lips: quite good. I don’t think I am quite as fanatical about them as the rest of Meat Lodge, all of whom had it in their hands within 12 minutes of its release. (OK, that’s hyperbole: I don’t know if Dan gives a damn. The other three are into it.)
Went out to dinner with Shannon last night, a quick bite at the new Armadillo Grill in Raleigh before Zach’s intensive class. I’m really not sure what I think of her. I really enjoyed hanging out with her till two in the morning Friday, but things just seemed really average Sunday night.
Pro: She has red hair.
Con: She thinks she has a little NASCAR driver inside her.
Pro: She has red hair.
Con: She just doesn’t thrill me.
Pro: She has red hair.
Con: She still spends most Sunday nights with her family.
Pro: She has red hair.
Con: Her hairstyle of choice for Sunday night was baaaaad.
Pro: She loves the Organic Gorilla Munch. The cereal. Not me.
I may have just been in a bad mood Sunday. I didn’t really get into the improv, either, and usually I’m all about being coached by someone who hasn’t really coached me before. I was just frustrated… I didn’t feel like Zach was making his notes real clear in terms of strategies, but was rather giving great examples of how he would have used the strategies in a particular scene. Which was fine, but I was just worried that some of the newer people– and he knows he has some beginners– wouldn’t quite know why they were getting the notes they were getting.
Then, today, he sent an e-mail that summarized it all really well.
07-23-2002 11:34 PM
________________________________________
Some Way to Sneak Me In
Well, I goofed. I sent Lora a link to Ali’s journal, because I think it’s funny, and as my finger was clicking “send,” it finally dawned on me just how easy it would be for her to stumble in here. Stupid. I would think that would definitely change the dynamic of the relationship: she knows most of the gory details of the past four months of my life, I still know only enough about her to make her a delightful mystery.
Billy Cockrock and I spent the afternoon volunteering at the canteen at the blood drive. We’d encourage people to sit and stay put for 15 minutes and serve them pizza, beverages, subs, whatever. The food choices we had to rattle off changed like four times in the two hours we were there. I think Bill was a little miffed that we were there, but I had a real fucking blast just playing around with people. And a new audience every fifteen minutes.
I watched two guys turn green– literally– and almost pass out. They had to be wheeled over to the curtained area for folks who are not doing so hot. Each returned.
Creepy Shelley did a thirty-minute stint, and had the look of someone who might need to be wheeled away. I managed not to speak to her, and I think she was working hard not to look my way. Bullet dodged. This was not a woman that I ever wanted to speak to again. Not after the fucked-up hair-pulling incident.
I mean, seriously, what possesses you to pull someone’s hair while you are kissing them? If it was a move of “Hey, stop kissing me, I can’t think of any other way to get you off of my face,” I would understand. But to practically shove yourself on someone, kiss them, and then pull their hair is just creepy.
And to tell them in the same breath how sexy Andy Pettite is, and then try to kiss them again, is even creepier. Yeah, I really don’t relish ever running into Creepy Shelley again.
07-25-2002 12:07 AM
________________________________________
Cosmonaut, Cosmonaut
Ah, eBay. I bid on four computers at $25 a pop, hoping I would get one. I got three. So after shipping all of these things, I now have 3 IBM 300 GLs, 2 towers and a desktop. One has no hard drive, none have CD-ROM drives, and none have network cards or modems. I aim to fix them up– two are 400 mHz, so pretty useful– and use one as the new CSBL.net server, one as the new FPS/Win98 workstation, and sell one to Billy Cockrock so that he has a decent machine at home. Think he’ll get a 400 mHz and I’ll keep the 233 for me. He needs a good machine. He’s in college. He’s learnin’.
Zach Ward is doing a pretty amazing job with the longform intensives at ComedyWorx. I was not impressed Sunday, but he’s been an incredible teacher since then and is really making some lightbulbs come on. Philip Boyne, who is all of 14, was pretty damn amazing tonight. (There are five high school kids in the class from our high school league. Which makes for a weird dynamic at times, but it’s an amazing opportunity for them.)
JMatt, Larry Larr and I head to Green Bay tomorrow for the Sooper Bowl of Comedy. Looks like it is the ex-ComedySportz gang from Kansas City and San Diego, and the current CSz bunch from Chi-town. Word on the street is that Beth Melewski will be there. I have been advised that I should not recognize her.
07-26-2002 03:33 AM
________________________________________
Simply Doing What You Feel Is the Best Way Not to Go Wrong
Larry and I are in Green Bay. We spent the evening at three bars, getting drunk, betting each other a dollar at a time on ridiculous “who could beat up whom” bets. We would have strangers decide when we disagreed. Some results:
I won $1 for saying I could beat up Chris Kattan in one bar, then lost it back by a vote of 5-1 in another.
I lost $2 for betting againts myself in a fistfight vs. Nancy Kerrigan.
Larry lost $1 betting on himself in a fight against Uncle Jesse from The Dukes of Hazard.
I won $1 for saying C.C Deville from Poison could beat Larry senseless.
We both agreed that we could pummel Al Roker. His mobility is limited. I won $1 by saying that Matt Lauer could beat Larry.
We may go on the radio in the morning. If we wake up.
07-26-2002 06:18 PM
________________________________________
Pig Is Nude
I got an e-mail from Mr. Dan Kois today that my Pixies review was up on Salon. So I hopped over to the audio section to see if it was there, but no. Scratching my head, I zipped over to the Salon front page. And hell yeah, there’s my name. Kick ass.
Now that I’ve read the review, I feel kind of lame though, since only like two sentences in the entire review survived the editing process, and there’s quite a bit in there that I didn’t write. (Well, at least not the way it appeared.) Not that I mind terribly, but it definitely feels edited– lifeless, limp, and factually sketchy in a few places. (I’m pretty sure that while the album art says just “Pixies,” the actual title is “The Pixies,” as it was listed on the press release spinART sent. I could be way wrong here, though.)
Lunchbox (JMatt’s new permanent nickname) arrived late from Detroit and Larry and I met up with Ken Goltz, some Green Bay folks, and Gary, Matt, and Elvin from San Diego. We spent an hour or so in the Green Bay Packers Hall of Fame, looking at Packers past and present, Packers paraphernalia, Packers, Packers, Packers. Green Bay is kind of amazing: it’s this tiny little town which just happens to have this monstrosity of a football legend that gives it some claim to being a big city.
Carrie Masse is not here. Her boyfriend was in a car accident so she and his parents flew to where he is hospitalized. I’m bummed that I missed her, but I’m really glad that she’s with him. She’s had a rough run of late. She’s such a sweetie– she left me a picture of the two of us from the AC4 in April with a note on the back. Giggles.
One positive here: Lunchbox and Larry won’t get the chance to take my “I’m in love with Carrie Masse” bit further than I do. I really thought it had the capacity to reach creepy level with their backup, as it was much-hyped before we came up.
Victor Moore, formerly of ComedySportz St. Louis, is looking for longform teams for an October festival. I already responded that Destroy All Monsters is probably in. Just have to convince Beans, Ben, and Lunchbox now. Yay!
Lora e-mailed today, and is heading back out of town next week. Man, I am doomed to never see this girl! (Actually she wants to get together Monday or Tuesday… I’m justnot sure if I can on either of those nights. Augh! May have to re-arrange. I totally want to see her again. I’ll be all smiley when I do.)
07-27-2002 04:09 AM
________________________________________
Fires, Floods, and Killer Bees
A very drunk Ross V. White teamed with a somewhat drunk Beth Melewski to call Zach Ward between 3 and 7 times this evening, leaving him long voicemails of love.
Then a very drunk Ross V. White and a somewhat drunk Beth Melewski ended up in a public fountain by some body of water in Green Bay (but not Green Bay itself) wondering why teammates Lumchbox, Joey Bland, and Andre Washington did not yes-and and also come in the fountain.
Green Bay is a barrel of laughs. We played pool, darts, and some weird curling-like game that was completely mesmerizing at a local brewery. We plan to hit Mike and Peggy Eserkaln’s house tomrrow for some shenanigans.
Lunchbox did not feel good about his shows and has been sour since. I prefer to have great fun and not worry too much if the show was not the greatest comedy ever created. But then, I also believe that if you have great fun, an audience will too, and I think tonight was a microcosm that proved me right.
07-28-2002 09:20 PM
________________________________________
All the Lies I Tell Myself Are True
A whole day spent in airports; thank heavens Anthony and Ewald are here to save me. The three of us will head out soon to the Cradle to check out Mum. e flies out early in the AM; Ant and I should have time for lunch before he takes off too. Green Bay happened on the wrong weekend for any number of reasons; I can only assume that it was fated to be that way, and had I stayed here this weekend terrible things could have happened.
I might have found myself unable to use semicolons.
Green Bay– Saturday afternoon, we spent some time at Mike and Peggy Eserkaln’s house, hanging with the comedy gang and eating tasty bratwursts. Watched a video of Mike doing a one-man show with some action figures and a purse. Listened to Matt McDonald alienate Andy Berhendt’s girlfriend.
We played Kansas City in the 5:30 show to approximately 12 fans and 18 other players and friends of the club. Lunchbox recovered and we had a lot of fun with it. I probably enjoyed the chance to chat with Clancy Hathaway backstage as much as any of it. Lunchbox and the Wizard played the 9:30 show, leaving me free to start drinking at 6:30. I downed the half-gallon jug of Titletown beer that GB gave us by myself, rehydrated for 30 minutes, and started in on the Leinenkugel. I became 19 again for a little while, impossibly proud of how much I was drinking for no apparent reason. (Though that last sentence is misleading, since I didn’t drink when I was 19, but I’m reasonably certain that anyone watching me would have had the same reaction I have when I watch underaged kids thrilled with themselves for such a lame reason.)
Had a chance to chat with Gary Kramer about the possibility of converting this year’s AC4 into the NCT tournament. That would be cool– San Diego is cool with coming down, which I think would be a lot of fun. They pretty much fucked around the whole time and I think I had more fun watching them than any of the other teams. Not because they were better or funnier, but because they had more fun.
07-29-2002 02:28 PM
________________________________________
Your Menstruating Heart
While seeing Mum last night, some guy up near the front collapsed. The two singers for Mum were these slight Icelandic women with high, timid voices and those lovely Icelandic accents that make you sound all of twelve years old. They stopped playing, and this mousy request came from the mike: “We need–to call han ham-bu-lance.”
The guy got up and said he was OK after two or three minutes of stunned Cradle-onlooker silence. Mum started the show again, beginning the song instead of picking up in the middle. The guy was carried out by four people a little later.
All of this was after some guy hurled right behind where Anthony, Ewald, and I were standing. Ant and I missed it. I think e saw the whole thing happen. After a couple minutes, Frank Heath came scurrying out with a broom to pick up some chunks. This is the coolest man in Chapel Hill. Sweeping vomit. Kind of sad.
Anthony and I stayed up into the wee hours… well, for a work night… talking improv. I miss having Anthony here all the time.
07-30-2002 10:25 PM
________________________________________
Won’t You Let Me Walk You Home From School?
The story of my day:
The Independent called and wants to feature Destroy All Monsters in their “Best Bets” section! I talked to the guy for a while about THE ZYGOTE and he seemed interested, though somewhat confused by the idea of an entity at ComedyWorx that was booking rotating shows. Which is, admittedly, confusing.
Twitter/rosswhite
Facebook/Ross White
Linkedin/RossWhite
Del.icio.us/rosswhite
Wikipedia/rosswhite
Flickr/rosswhite
Xbox Live/The Failwhale
last.fm/RossWhite