weekly soundtrack

The “Fucking The Dog Til Kickoff” Edition

“Getting In Tune” by the Who

The other day my buddy mentioned to me that he’d been listening to Who’s Next and that it just didn’t grab him the way it had in the past.  For my money I say the tunes that aren’t CSI theme songs are some of the best parts of that album.  This song isn’t a big hit, and it rarely gets played on the radio, but most bands would still give their left nut to write something this good.  And I can’t think of any band alive today that could match the blend of power and subtlety that these guys were seemingly born with.

If they play this at halftime today I’ll shit a brick.

“Mockingbirds” by Grant Lee Buffalo

Here’s a small glimpse into the way my mind works: a few weeks ago I heard this song on the radio and it reminded me of how much I liked “Truly, Truly.”  So I posted “Truly, Truly,” but this song stayed lodged in the back of my mind.  Now I find myself singing it all the fucking time.

“The Streetbeater” by Quincy Jones

Also know as the theme song from Sanford and Son. No matter what you call it this song is fucking awesome.

weekly soundtrack

Another day, another MRI.  Yesterday I got an image done of my cervical spine (not to be confused with my cervix).  I’m really getting used to the “Kubrick Tube,” as one of my friends called it.  Yesterday’s session was so long I almost fell asleep in there.

Part of me feels that it’s too late to rehash Brett Favre’s epic meltdown in last Sunday’s NFC Championship Game, but a larger part of me feels that there’s never a bad time to trash Brett Favre.  His last throw of the game was an out-of-this-world bad decision and it effectively cost his team a trip to the Super Bowl.  There’s always a sense that, given enough opportunities, Favre will find a way to make a back-breaking mistake at the most crucial moment.  So there was a certain cosmic correctness in watching him act out the script so perfectly.  Or as Dashiell Bennett wrote on Deadspin, “It’s not often that someone gets to see their nemesis fail in exactly the manner they long dreamed of.”

“Razor Pilot” by Madder Rose

I’ve been playing Bring It Down a lot recently, and this song never fails to kill me.  It opens with the patented Neil Young E minor seventh voicing (No, seriously.  Compare it to the first chord of “Down By The River” if you don’t believe me.) and just gets better from there.  Back when I had nothing better to do with my life I used to try to learn guitar solos note-for-note, and this was one that I had down cold.

“Big Kid Table” by Thao

A couple weeks ago Emily and I were grooving to Thao’s “Bag Of Hammers” when we heard it at Starbucks, so why am I posting this song?  Why you gotta ask so many questions?

I was gonna post “Careering” by Public Image Ltd., but then I thought, “Why not post PiL’s entire appearance on American Bandstand instead?”  So here’s ten minutes of John Lydon and friends skulking around the stage, blatantly not lip-syncing to “Poptones” and “Careering.”  I’d like to shake the hand of whoever thought this was a good idea.

maybe the worst idea ever

Before I divulge my next plan to utterly abase and humiliate myself I’d like to bring to your attention the fact that the Dallas Cowboys got their skulls caved in by the Minnesota Vikings today.  I think that hating the Cowboys should be the prime directive of every right-thinking American citizen, followed closely by hating Brett Favre, who is the quarterback of the Vikings.  In a just universe the Vikings will meet their demise next Sunday at the hands of the New Orleans Saints.  Lisa’s brother suggested that it might be more satisfying to see Favre lose in the Super Bowl, but I’m afraid that my sense of schadenfreude only extends so far.  Sure, I need to see Favre wallow in misery, but the sooner the better, I say.  Plus, the Viking defense is so good that if they do make it to the Super Bowl Favre could play like utter crap and the Vikings could still win.  And that thought, gentle reader, makes me sick to my stomach.

I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that I’m going to enter and try to finish a triathelon this summer.  I’ve kicked this idea around before, but it’s now lodged so firmly in my brain that I may just have to give in and do it.  The main obstacle I see (you know, beyond the fact that I’m in terrible shape) is that I’m the most inept swimmer in the world.  I’m lucky to be able to get out of the shower in the morning without drowning.  There’s a pool at the gym I go to, but I haven’t used it yet.  The thought of me drowning in full view of a roomful of treadmill-pounding housewives has been enough to make me think twice, but I’m gonna have to get over that.

Hmmm, maybe they’ll let me wear a life-vest…

thanksgiving day

My neurologist called me today to say that my MS screen came back positive, which means I have MS, I guess.  Then the ignition on my car shit the bed and I had to call a locksmith to get it started.  As all this shit was raining down upon me I stopped and thought about everything that’s positive in my life.  I know, right?  There really is a first time for everything.

1.  Lisa.  Really and truly the love of my life.  I always ask her (in all seriousness), “Where have you been all my life?”

2.  My health.  Strange to list this in light of my current diagnosis, but have you ever watched The Biggest Loser?  I’d rather have MS than be some 500 pound dude struggling to get down to 300 lbs.  And then realizing that 300 lbs is still grossly overweight.  I guess what I’m saying is that I can still do whatever I want without much difficulty.  There are a lot of people a lot worse off than I am, and I don’t see them writing blogs about it.  So maybe I should just shut my mouth.

3.  I was gonna write a lot of bullshit about friends and family, but fuck that.  Of course I love you, baby.

4.  Celestial Seasonings Sleepytime Extra Tea.  This is seriously the greatest shit on Earth.  Denis Leary said that NyQuil should be called “Don’t Make Any Fucking Plans,” but I’m assuming Mr. Leary never had a cup of this tea.  Keep a fucking pillow nearby because you’re gonna need it.

I’ll leave you with maybe the most existential love song ever:

“Love Reign O’er Me” by the Who

Love reign o’er you, too.

weekly soundtrack

Eh, not really much to say.  Sometimes that’s just how it goes.

“Truly, Truly” by Grant Lee Buffalo

There’s enough sweeping grandeur in this song to last me a long time, but that extravagance is what I like about it.  Sometimes nothing succeeds like excess.

“Lay Low” by My Morning Jacket

It’s been a while, but they’re back.  I can’t really crank music in the new place because the downstairs neighbors will complain, and that’s damn shame, because this song just begs to be played loud.  Somehow I’ve managed to get by, but it’s been a struggle.

“Tommy Gun” by the Clash

Oh, fuck me, is this song ever brilliant.  It’s savagely repetitive (Don’t believe me?  This might be one of only a handful of songs ever written that doesn’t have a chorus.) but they keep it from becoming boring by varying the dynamics of each verse and by letting Mick Jones play his skinny ass off.

medical update

Spinal taps (or ‘lumbar punctures’ if you’re a medical professional) are just as much fun as you think they are.  I’ve been dreading getting one ever since I read that they are one of the only ways to confirm a diagnosis of MS.

I got mine done last night.  After getting an extensive MRI of my spine I rode the elevator up four floors to meet my needle-wielding neurologist.  He politely had me sign a consent form (Did you know that if you have a brain tumor a spinal tap could kill you by causing your brain to collapse down on to your spine?  Forewarned is forearmed.), and then I sat on the examining table and leaned forward on one of those lidded laundry hampers.  After a couple shots of lidocaine we were ready to party.

The odd thing about it is that it didn’t hurt at all, but almost as soon as the needle went in I started to get light-headed.  I broke out in a cold sweat.  The doctor must have known right away because he asked if I was doing OK.  Then he asked if I was going to pass out.  After I told him that I wasn’t he said, “If you’re going to pass out you should tell me because I have a needle in your back.”

I firmly believe that the better part of valor is discretion, so I said that I thought I was, and that was really that.  He removed the needle and I lay down.  I never did pass out, though.  I’m a wicked tough guy.

After another 40 minutes of recuperation time Lisa poured me into the car and we went home to watch “The Biggest Loser.”

Not something I’d like to do on a regular basis, but I’ve had worse nights.

(Update: my neurologist called today to say that my MRI showed scarring on my spinal cord. At least now my brain doesn’t feel so lonely.)

ugh

I got a head start on New Year’s Eve by getting totally drunk last night. I’m wretchedly hung over this morning and hoping I recover in time for a wedding Lisa and I are going to tonight.

Oh red wine, why don’t you love me the way I love you?

holiday update

My daughter and I flew to my parents’ house in South Carolina for Christmas.  Lisa couldn’t come with us due to work and maid-of-honor commitments, but we managed to have a good time anyway.  It’s been a while since I’ve been able to spend an extended length of time with Emily (I don’t know if I’ve ever used her real name on this blog and I don’t know why.  It’s not like she’s in the Witness Protection Program.) and it was very nice to be able to hang out with her without having to watch the clock.  I know there will come a day when she won’t want much to do with me, so I try to cherish every minute I get with her now.

I got an instant camera, and its lo-fi analog vibe is so cool I can’t believe they ever went out of style.  There’s something deeply satisfying about watching the pictures develop right in front of you.  It really is like magic.  The camera is bulky and cumbersome and purple.  It’s like a goddamn cartoon camera and I really love it.

Lisa got me a travel guide to Tahiti and French Polynesia.  As God as my witness, I’m fucking going there.  And I’m never gonna come back.  If it’s good enough for Gauguin and Marlon Brando it’s good enough for me.

medical update

Had my appointment with the neurologist this afternoon, and I came out more confused than I was before I went in.  He said that while my MRI did show lesions they weren’t active ones, which indicates that my symptoms might not be MS.  Not that he ruled that out entirely.  Also the fact that I have numbness in both hands and feet seems to indicate that it might be a nerve condition.  But it could also be MS.

I have to go back to get an MRI done on my spine, and I’m scheduled to get a spinal tap on the day after my birthday.  I wanna stick a cucumber down my pants for that, but I doubt that they’d get the joke.

weekly soundtrack

The Car Tunes Edition

Even though it’s a 2002 model, my new car doesn’t have a CD player.  Base models only came with a cassette player, which was a bit of an insult even in 2002.  For the first month or so I listened to the radio.  Mostly 98.5 The Sports Hub.  I love Toucher and Rich.  This morning they challenged Deadspin editor A.J. Daulario to name all the members of the ’80s hair-band Cinderella, and then mocked him when he couldn’t remember the bassist’s name.  What does that have to do with sports?  Not a thing, but they freely admit that they barely know anything about sports, so their extended non-sports-related tangents are the most entertaining parts of the show.

Anyway.  After dinner on Thanksgiving day Lisa and I were chatting with her brother and he mentioned that she still had several cassette cases stashed under the bed in her old room.  Bingo!  After she dusted them off we rummaged through them and mocked her musical taste.  Donna Summer?  Really?

I picked out the best ones for myself.  Now my car is like a rolling music museum with a soundtrack straight outta Dazed and Confused. Aerosmith’s first album?  I got it.  Frampton Comes Alive?  Better fuckin’ believe it.  Led Zeppelin?  “Could I interest you in something from Presence, sir?”

I still listen to The Sports Hub, but the addition of these tunes has made my car a whole lot cooler:

“(I Know) I’m Losing You” by Rod Stewart from Every Picture Tells A Story

If you still don’t think that Rod Stewart was a brilliant singer then this should be all the proof you need.  Care to name a better Motown cover?  Yeah, I thought so.

“Show Me The Way” by Peter Frampton from Frampton Comes Alive

Ugh!  The Talk Box was the Auto Tune of the ’70s: annoying, ubiquitous and distracting.  Frampton’s reliance on it is puzzling because he really is a great and lyrical guitarist.  I’ll chalk it up to youthful immaturity only because I like this song.  “Do You Feel Like We Do” gets no such pass.

“No Quarter” by Led Zeppelin from Houses Of The Holy

This gets the nod (just barely) over “The Song Remains The Same” because it has such a badass main riff.  Plus, kudos to John Paul Jones for the spookiest electric piano sound ever.  Actually, there’s a lot of weird sounds floating around in this tune.  Check out all the distorted counter-melodies in the guitar solo.  It’s little things like that that keep me playing this over and over.