Happy New Year! Whatcha doing?

I'm off work tonight at 11:00 and go back in tomorrow morning at 8:00.

How will I celebrate? I'll be watching Radiohead's free webcast concert when I get home. [Ugh. I just read that the show starts at midnight U.K. time. And I am guessing that this is not the same U.K. that is playing in Nashville's Music City Bowl.]

I may also stop by here to watch the happenings of New York's Times Square. My young son and I always enjoy watching the streaming webcams of that site and have fun counting the buses and yellow taxis moving about the big city.

How are you guys spending the hours surrounding midnight tonight?

"You gotta keep the devil way down in the hole."

Season 1 of The Wire used The Blind Boys of Alabama's interpretation of "Way Down In The Hole" as its theme song. Season 2, in keeping with its grittier theme, the show used Tom Waits' original version of the song.

I just read that Steve Earle, who plays Waylon in the series, has recorded a version of it himself for the final season.

Speaking of Southside Johnny...

Southside Johnny joined Jon Bon Jovi on stage for the Hope Concert III in Jersey last Friday night. Finally a concert where both my wife and I would be in awe simultaneously. They sang "Broke Down Piece of Man" together.

Southside Johnny's Grapefruit Moon

A friend of Southside Johnny Lyon told me about this over a year ago. It appears likely that it will finally be released in early '08.

Grapefruit Moon is the name of Southside's collection of Tom Waits songs presented with the big band treatment. I await, I await.

Now what's the latest with that Tom Waits covers record by Scarlett Johansson that I've all but forgotten about?

I love to feel that Fernandina Beach sand between my toes.

Well, I didn't take my shoes off this time, but my beautiful wife and I did at least make time for a nice walk on the beach.

It was kind of the whirlwind trip this year. We couldn't afford to go and so I didn't ask for any time off from work. That was a major downer for us. She was sad to miss Christmas with her family and I was sad because I knew how much she really wanted to be there. Thankfully, her mom sent us a check and I happened to have the 24th, 25th, and 26th off. I clocked out from a ten hour driving shift at work at midnight on the 23rd, got into our van thirty minutes later, and we made the drive to Florida for the next 9+ hours. (By "we," I mean "her" since she prefers her driving to mine. I follow in my father's footsteps and drive a bit too slowly for many people's tastes.)

We pulled into her mom's apartment complex at around ten o'clock Monday morning and zombied our way through the day while visiting with so many of my wonderful in-laws. (One zombie pictured below.)


Christmas was as beautiful as any Christmas should be. The kiddos had a blast and happiness and joy were in abundance. Pictures of said kiddos are on display at Paige's blog.

Thankfully, a friend worked my Thursday shift for me and we didn't have to drive home as early as Wednesday after all, so Paige and I got a little of that beach-walking time in that is always so important to a Tennessee landlubber like me.

More later maybe. I've gotta get back to the grind.

(Here's a nice piece on Amelia Island in Louisville's Courier-Journal.)

Mark Johnson talks to Webbspun Ideas about selecting great wines for the holidays.

Wines for the holidays with Mark Johnson

And visit Corey and the good people at Threadventures for all of your embroidery needs.

But enough about ugh for a minute.

I just received an early Christmas present. And it just may be the best present ever.

Big thanks to a brother, a sister, a mom, a dad, and a wife for pitching in for this 80 GB iPod classic. 80 GB? Are you serious? I've had a 4 GB mini for a year or so. It in itself is pretty awesome, but now I can fit all of my music and fave podcasts on here and never have to take anything off to make room for other things.

Phone calls of thanks are about to be made.

The continuing saga of ugh.

And now my car's battery seems to be dead.

But it's cool. I dropped a buck on a lottery ticket today. It's just a matter of time, right?

There goes my dream of a Maynard G. Krebs lifestyle.

I'm looking for a part-time job. Over the span of a mere twenty minutes, I've applied online to three different places. I've perused craigslist and found a plethora of possibilities, many of which look to be not much more than ye good ole pyramid schemes.

The bottom line is this: The current job provides healthcare that is unlikely to be outdone most anywhere else. I'm keeping it as my main gig. They get me from 2-11 any day they want me, without fail. To supplement my income, I'm open to anything that starts hopefully no earlier than eight or nine in the morning and ends no later than one or so. Another possibility is to work somewhere on the other side of the clock. Midnight to four? Something like that.

Hopefully, something will be found that adds dollars to my day and doesn't invade my sleep too much. I'm open to suggestions.

They did manage to tell Santa what they wanted for Christmas.

The kid can't take a compliment.

I came home last night to see my little Ari sitting on the couch with a single tear resting just below her right eye. Or as she called it, her "eye drip."

Also, Joshua tends to antagonize her so often that he can't even say something sweet to her without her assuming he's being mean. "Ari, you're a cute little dish," he said to her yesterday.

"Momma, Joshua called me a cute little dish," she tattled.

"Don't worry, Ari," her mother reassured. "It's a nice thing he said to you."

"But Momma," said Ari defiantly. "I am NOT a plate!"

So the answer is 8?

Pitt says they'll have "between 7 and 9" kids.

Enjoy Every Sandwich

First, a joke:

Descartes walks into a bar.
The bartender walks up to him and says, “Would you care for a drink?”
Descartes replied, “I think not” and disappeared.

This boy's birthday is tomorrow. December 18. I'll be thirty-eight years old. Now more than ever, I'm curious about topics like existentialism. There is purpose to all of these atoms of mine crashing into the atoms of others, right? Nakedness and touch, intimacy and trust - they bring to me a higher sense of being.

A year older and a year wiser? Maybe. If nothing else, I'm comfortable in my own skin. While I may be my own worst critic in many areas - as a father, as a husband, as an wage earner, I could be so much better - the best truth is that I am at peace with me. I love the music in my life that I am able to embrace and the pleasure I get from reading a good book knows no bounds. When I write, the words might not come together in the way that they would if I was better taught, but the words I choose are always honest. They serve their own purpose.

Half of my years ago, I was nineteen. I was young, but not too young to remember "the Queen of Soul." Becker and Fagen weren't writing about me. People my age tend to ruminate and say things like "where have all of the years gone?" Maybe I'll ask that question on another birthday, but it all seems played out quite fairly for now. I really do feel as if I've lived nineteen years twice. If the first nineteen were all about growing up and going to school, then what were the following nineteen about?

I've certainly put in a lot of work hours. I've delivered your pizzas, sold you your CDs and cassette tapes at the record store, "up sold" you your luggage and briefcases at the luggage store in the mall, and now I carry your bags when you check-in at your hotel. In romance, I've loved from afar and I've loved with abandon. I've loved some of the wrong people and some people were wrong to have fallen in love with me. Both experiences have brought me tears. Both have taught me life lessons.

Now that I have a family, the struggles mean so much more, but the rewards are so much richer. I'm just a good job away from the seemingly perfect life. It could happen. My yearnings seem so overwhelming sometimes. I'd like to understand the great philosophers well enough to formulate my own profound philosophy. I would like for my wife to not have to work and be able to stay at home with the kiddos while I'm doing great things and bringing home big money. I'd like to write of my love for her on the beautiful (and published!) level that Adam Gopnik writes of his, or that Calvin Trillin (About Alice) or Rob Sheffield (Love Is A Mixtape) write of theirs.

I share a birthday with Keith Richards (on how he keeps fit, "Passing the vodka bottle. And playing the guitar.") and with Steven Spielberg ("I dream for a living."). The very funny and very missed Chris Farley died on Dec. 18, 1997 ("Basically, I only play one character; I just play him at different volumes.") Life is beautiful, but it can also be way too fleeting.

As the late Warren Zevon said, "Enjoy every sandwich." Maybe it really is that simple.

Lucky Bastard, That S/FJ

If there is anything about being a professional music writer that sucks, I would like to know what that something is. Sasha-Frere Jones (professional music writer) starts his latest blog entry thusly:

"While at the Led Zeppelin reunion concert..."

See what I mean? Read the rest ... In The Days Of My Youth

And read his wonderfully, wonderfully written review ... Stairway to Here

STS9 - Frame that Red Rocks show and put it on your wall.

Beautiful music for your ears, STS9.

STS9, live at Red Rocks, as photographed by Tobin Poppenberg (click and scroll a bit to see).

I'm falling, falling, falling for this band.

"Breathe In" from that wonderful Red Rocks show (featured on this podcast) will take me home across the dam tonight. Listen and love.

Aimee Mann webcast

Aimee Mann's Christmas show will be webcast live Monday night at 7:00 Nashville time on NPR.

One Thing I Know: All we are is dust in the wind.

Apparently, there are long-term benefits to teaching children by using the Socratic method.

In a study of 105 children, all around 10 years old, teachers spent an hour a week for 16 months teaching lessons based on philosophical inquiry.The philosophy-based lessons encouraged a community approach to "inquiry" in the classroom, with children sharing their views on Socratic questions posed by the teacher.

The result? At the end of 16 months Compared with 72 control children, the philosophy children showed significant improvements on tests of their verbal, numerical and spatial abilities.

I figured if it worked so well for all of those 10 year olds, why not start out by reading my copy of Jean-Paul Satre's Essays in Existentialism to my under-5 set. None of us could get a damn thing out of it. So maybe they're not ten yet, but what's my excuse?

Maybe I'll take a refresher course and borrow The Tao of Pooh from my local library. I remember my dad and I reading that together so many years ago. Its synopsis is below.

From Powell's Books:

The how of Pooh? The Tao of who? The Tao of Pooh!?

One of the world's great Taoist masters isn't Chinese, or a venerable philosopher, but is in fact none other than A. A. Milne's effortlessly calm, still, reflective bear Winnie-the-Pooh. While Eeyore frets and Piglet hesitates and Rabbit calculates and Owl pontificates, Pooh just is. And that's the clue to the secret wisdom of the Taoists.

Oldie

I remember sometime in the early 80s, my dad cringing when he first heard the music of his youth categorized on radio formats as "oldies." I laughed at his mock pain. Of course those songs were oldies; they had been around forever.

Now it's 2007 and Madonna and John Mellencamp have both been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Cringe.

He's The Man

Joshua made me laugh the other day. There are two doors into the kids' bathroom, one from the hall and another from Ari's room. I had locked the door from the hallway while staying home with them to avoid any more curious disasters like the one Paige talked about here.

We needed to open the door a bit later in the day and I went about the method of unlocking it by jimmying it with the inside of a pen. (It locks from the inside.) Joshua offered to help by squeezing behind Ari's bed to open the unlocked door in her room. I thanked him and said that we'd race to see who gained access to the bathroom first. He won and I thanked him again. Confidently, and with a hint of swagger, he replied, "It's the one thing I'm good at."

He didn't mean that as modestly as it sounded. He was really proud of his accomplishment. Before I could say anything else, he added with his hands on his hips, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." Indeed, cowboy.

"It's Janet if you're sexy."

"Feedback," Janet Jackson's latest dance track, is streaming here.

h/t Pop Candy

My first Christmas meme.

Two people tagged me for a meme. It's a Christmas meme. Those people are Holly (such a Christmas name) and Ron (not much of a Christmas name).

Rules for the game include:

1) Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.
2) Share Christmas facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Welcome to the Christmas edition of getting to know your friends.

1. Wrapping or gift bags? Gift bags. No question.

2. Real or artificial tree? Artificial.

3. When do you put up the tree? When my wife asks me to get the artificial tree out of the storage closet.

4. When do you take the tree down? When my wife asks me to. I'm a simple man. And agreeable, too.

5. Do you like eggnog? Never had it. I love boiled custard.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Maybe the Death Star?

7. Do you have a nativity scene? Nope.

8. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? No such thing. Unless the Christmas I caught a girlfriend cheating on me counts. That pretty much sucked.

9. Mail or email Christmas cards? The cards go out today. My wife is my hero. Before I got married, I would always buy cards with the best of intentions and then they'd sit on the counter until January unmailed and eventually tossed.

10. Favorite Christmas Movie? A Charlie Brown Christmas. That counts as a movie, right?
11. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Typically, sometime in the last 48 hours.

12. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? My mom makes a certain snack that I love, but I can't think of its name right now.

13. Clear lights or colored on the tree? Clear here.

14. Favorite Christmas song? James Brown has a pretty cool one that I heard at work today. "Christmastime Is Here" by the Peanuts gang is the one that really helps me smile though.

15. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Optimally, travel. Too broke this year to go anywhere. -sigh-

16. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? Probably.

17. Angel on the tree top or a star? Neither. A Santa hat this year. I guess we couldn't find what usually goes up there.

18. Open the presents Christmas Eve or Christmas Morning? Christmas morning.

19. Most annoying thing about this time of year? My wallet and how I feel about not being able to buy stuff for folks close to me.

20. Do you decorate your tree in any specific theme or color? I see lots of snowmen. The kids did most of the decorating. This year, I was too busy cutting my toe open to participate.

21. What do you leave for Santa? My wife will choose.

22. Least favorite holiday song? Feliz Navidad. I don't know why. Just make it stop.

23. Favorite ornament? I don't guess I have one. Should I?

My answers reveal to me that I'm even more of a curmudgeon about the holidays than I previously thought. Oh well. At least I smile for the kids.

This is where I'm supposed to tag others to do this. I won't. Instead I'll get back to listening to World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. I really like it.

"All Girls Wanna Be Me"

The podcast is Pistol Digital's Global Music Hunters.

And now I play The Junkies (producer Cosmos) over and over.

I like where these Hunters take me.

My Dark Knight

Nice

This shot was taken by my friend at Peace Of My Mind. Click the pic for her flickr shots.

I've got this nice dream where, should I ever have both time and money at the same time, I ride AmTrak across the countryside with camera, journal, and an iPod full of Van Morrison songs (emphasis on Hymns to the Silence) on hand. My destination? This Tennessee boy gets to hang out with her underneath her beautiful Montana skies.

Which blogger not from your area would you most like to meet?

I thought all women knew their size.

Salon.com's Sarah Hepola writes about her large breasts eloquently and honestly in Busting Out.

Good

Sweet

No Reservation

I'm watching No Reservations, hosted by Anthony Bourdain for the first time. His voice keeps making me think of Northern Exposure's Adam Arkin. So even though he's doing a fine job of explaining the interesting cultures of India's Kolkata and Mumbai, I just keep waiting for him to exchange fierce and acerbic dialogue with Dr. Fleischman.

Oh well. This'll do.

Dan Dierdorf on todays Titans/Chargers game,

"Is everyone here in a bad mood?"

It does appear so.

“Love never fails,” he said.

In 1955, she married someone else, becoming Jeanne Conway. “I remember it vividly,” he said. “I’m at Fort Bragg in the 82nd Airborne Division jumping out of airplanes and I pick up the Sunday New York Times and whose picture do I see but the girl of my dreams?”

I can't hear you.

Global Music Hunters hold exclusive rights to my ears right now.

The Sound of Young America

Drives home for me are things of beauty when accompanied by the sounds of The Sound of Young America. I subscribe to the podcast and always love listening to it on my iPod.

Recently featured on the show, comedian Hannibal Burress, whose style of delivery reminds me of the late and wonderful Mitch Hedberg, had me fighting the urge to smile broadly while trying to maintain bored coolness while shopping at Food Lion after midnight a couple of nights ago. There's not much more suspicious than a solitary shopper buying 12-items-or-less with a huge grin upon his face in the wee hours of the morning. Nonetheless, Hannibal had me cracking up. He's at the end of this podcast and his website is here.

Tonight's listen educated and warmed this music lover's heart. Host Jesse Thorn, self-proclaimed "America's radio sweetheart," interviewed musician and producer Steve Albini. His approach to producing and engineering is refreshingly free of ego and "devoid of any trace of tarnish."* When asked why he still charges a modest day rate at his studio instead of the much larger sum that most super-producers demand, he answered as only a true music fan could. Steve replied that while the alternative would certainly be possible, it would likely result in him making a couple of albums a year with not much chance for experiencing the multitude of fresh and organic opportunities found in working the way that he does. Awesome.

From Wikipedia:

On [Nirvana's] In Utero one can find a typical example of Albini's recording practices. Common practice in popular music is to record each instrument on a separate track at different times; see multi-track recording for more information. However, Albini prefers to record "live" as much as possible: the musicians perform together as a group in the same room. Albini places particular importance on the selection and use of microphones in achieving a desired sound, including painstaking placement of different microphones at certain points around a room to best capture ambience and other qualities.

Why in the world is this guy's approach to recording music such a rarity in the industry?

Thanks to The Sound of Young America for bringing their wonderful shows to my humble ears. Listen often and support the program when you can.

*"Devoid of any trace of tarnish" is a line from Peter Himmelman's Skin CD entitled "Clean." I just love how it feels to say that.

I'm guessing he takes after his parents.

Fogerty tonight.

My sleeping habits take me to bed between 1:00 and 2:00 in the morning. This morning found me up at 7:00 with my home-with-a-fever son. He feels great and we haven't stopped playing, talking, goofing around yet. I'm beyond exhausted.

Forgive me if I fall asleep at my Ryman Auditorium pew during tonight's John Fogerty show. At thirty-seven, I'm not too old to rock 'n' roll. I'm just really, really sleepy.

Walk Hard...to Nashville.

Dewey Cox: Maybe you don't believe in me at all.
Beth Anne: I do believe in you. [pause] I just know you're gonna fail.

- from Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story

The previews for this are hilarious. John C. Reilly cracks me up. Now I read that he is touring in character as Dewey Cox in support of the film. Is Nashville on his itinerary? Yes it is. Yes it is.

Mercy Lounge. December 8.

Smile

"We laughed. The clerks laughed. I just happened to be facing the irritated customers in line...and I watched them laugh."

Click here for the rest.

Can I post what I think is the quote of the day?

Clocks in, gets jiggy with it.

"I've never viewed myself as particularly talented. I've viewed myself as … slightly above average in talent. … Where I excel is with (a) ridiculous, sickening work ethic. While the other guy's sleeping, I'm working. While the other guy's eating, I'm working. While the other guy's making love, I mean, I'm making love, too, but I'm working really hard at it!" -- Will Smith on 60 Minutes

Declares Francis...

“Marriage is a beautiful mistake which two people make together.” - Trouble In Paradise (1932)

Emphasis on "beautiful."

"It hits pretty close to home," thought this here blog author.

The New Yorker's latest has an interesting essay on diaries, what compels some of us to keep them and what compels others of us to read them. Some of it will resonate with those of us who blog.

Below are a couple of excerpts that made me smile.

The impulse to keep a diary is to actual diaries as the impulse to go on a diet is to actual slimness. Most of us do wish that we were slim diarists.

And:

It obliges you to believe that the stuff that happened to you is worth writing down because it happened to you. This is why so many diaries are abandoned by circa January 10th: keeping this up, you quickly realize, means something worse than being insufferable to others; it means being insufferable to yourself.

Some of my guests are way cool.

While working today, I met a guest who was reading a book that made me think of fellow bloggers, Newscoma and Ron.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War

If she finishes reading it tonight, she's giving it to me to read. I'm looking forward to reading it, either the copy she gives me of the copy I'll pick up at my local library. I just wish my library had the audio version available. Who are its readers? Author Max Brooks, Alan Alda, Ron Howard, Rob and Carl Reiner, and the voice that I just have to hear reading this, Henry Rollins.

Your Super Bowl Halftime Act?

Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, as reported in USA Today.

I don't know. I've seen them live a couple of times and always left thoroughly sated. They just don't seem to me like an obvious choice for the big halftime show. As much as I love them, I can't think of any one song of theirs that brings the excitement and energy level that I associate with high profile appearances like this.

It's more about the spectacle than anything else, right? Last year's featuring Prince was awesome. The Rolling Stones were perfectly suited for 2006's show. U2 was awesome in '02, and even though I'm not a big fan, Aerosmith sharing the stage with Britney Spears rocked so much that I still remember it vividly all these years later.

But Petty? I'll enjoy it, but I wonder about it still. To be silly, maybe he can make some relevant, team-specific song choices:

• "Yer So Bad"
• "Even The Losers"
• "You Got Lucky"

Yeah. We're nerds. ;)

But we sure can dance.

So much for "Bah, Humbug." This is the levity I've been needing.

He's thinking,

"One kiss from my sister is nice...


...but more than one is just plain mushy."

I'm on the guest list, right?

Right?

Record stores in the news. Record stores on my mind.

I spend a lot of time remembering fondly the days of my record store employment. For approximately six long years, I sold CDs (back when they lived in longboxes) and tapes, cassingles and concert tickets. It's funny how through the passage of time, it's hard for me to remember anything but fun times in that little brick and mortar store on Nolensville Road. Surely there was a reason that each and every December, I recall announcing that this would be my last Christmas in retail. In fact, my coworkers always said the same thing...year in and year out.

I've been thinking of part-time jobs lately and would love to work a few hours a day in a record store. But it's hard to imagine, given the state of record retail today, that any are doing well enough to be hiring anyway. Maybe I'll park cars for Christmas tips, instead.

Anyway, here are some links to recent news stories about record stores:

Record-Store Clerk Blues - "If you can’t alphabetize, then leave it to the professionals."

Police raid former record store - "A sign outside reads Rarebird Records, but police say for months a storefront has been a hotspot for illegal gambling."

Woman commits suicide at record store - Just a tragic story. Including it anyway.

I thought the links would be more interesting than these. All of the others are just press releases about different independents and chains closing their doors and declaring bankruptcy.

What were/are your fave record stores? I never went to Lucy's on Church Street back in the 90s, but I did frequent a tiny shop whose name I can't recall on Elliston while it lasted. (John, do you remember its name?) I worked at Turtle's, Waves, and Blockbuster Music (formerly Turtle's), and currently shop - albeit rarely - at Phonoluxe and Grimey's.

The benefits of lazy parenting. (TV can teach your kids!)

While watching a bit of the fantastic Planet Earth series with the kids this morning, I thought I'd jump-start the excitement at seeing a screen filled with penguins.

Me: Oooh, cool! Look, kids. Penguins!
He who is four: Yes, Daddy. Those are called Emperor Penguins. See their yellow necks?

Apparently, Dora and Diego have taught the child more than I had thought. He was but a learner before, but now he is the teacher.

Bad mood, meet iPod shuffle and dissipate.

I clocked out tonight with a deep level of frustration clouding my mood. I'm thinking of two small incidents from earlier in the evening.

One person laughs sweetly as she remembers that she has no cash on her to tip me with. She's nice enough and very pleasant, but she just doesn't seem bothered by this at all. She's simply tickled. I'm simply ticked. I finish helping her with her luggage, smile and wish her a good stay. (sigh)

Another lays into me about her wait as I pick her up at the airport. I've done nothing wrong. I'm merely doing my job. Someone's on break and I'm covering his route. I'm on time and helpful as always. No matter. Her wait is my fault. No tip.

Other than that, it was an easy shift. I swept up a lot, read a bit, and enjoyed an otherwise uneventful evening. But my head wouldn't let the facts above rest. What are you doing with your life? Did you envision a life of apologizing to people for things that are not your fault as a career when you were younger? I miss working at the record store. Surrounded by music and by music lovers, I rarely clocked out frustrated.

Anyway, here's my drive home. Its soundtrack took me back to happiness. I'm smiling now.

Shuffle:

iron maiden - "hallowed be thy name" took me from elm hill pike to bell road. i love the strength in this song. its lyrics tell quite the tale as well.

When the priest comes to read me the last rites
I take a look through the bars at the last sights
Of a world that has gone very wrong for me

Can it be theres some sort of error
Hard to stop the surmounting terror
Is it really the end not some crazy dream

the hold steady - "citrus" softened my heart as i stepped away from my anger and gained perspective again.

i feel Jesus in the clumsiness of young and awkward lovers
I feel Judas in the long odds of the rackets on the corners
I feel jesus in the tenements of honest, nervous lovers
I feel Judas in the pistols and the pagers that come with all the powders

newton dominey - "all i need tonite" took me across the dam and to my home. whatever my worries, they're on the other side of the lake. i'm home now and with those who love me. i'm home now.

can't close my lonely eyes
without you walking through my movie
i know how it ends i know the lines
but i watch it every night

frank sinatra - "silent night." i step out of the car and close its door and hear frank sing this beautiful song with perfect dignity. this might be my favorite Christmas song. i walk to my door and it doesn't even occur to me to worry about being too broke to buy for my loved ones.

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace

christina aguilera - "candyman" plays as i put leash to collar and walk my dog in the quiet night. well, christina's not quiet. i love this song. written by christina and former 4 non blondes singer, linda perry, it's an awesome tribute to the famous "boogie woogie bugle boy" by the andrews sisters.

I met him out for dinner on a Friday night
He really got me working up an appetite
He had tattoos up and down his arm
There's nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm

Thanks for reading.

My heart is in good hands.

It was early this morning and my daughter woke me up the way she usually does. "Wake up, silly," she joyfully exclaimed. There is no waking up in a bad mood when those are the first words I hear. In her eyes, it really must be the silliest thing that I'm still sleeping when she's so awake and so happy at six in the morning. Never mind that I tend to go to bed at two.

I open my eyes, smile, and chat a bit with her as she goes about the process of convincing me that I should get out of bed and come into the living room with her. What we were talking about, I have no recollection, but at one point I said, grinning mischievously, "Ari, you break my heart." I said this more for me than for anyone else. It sounded like a cute thing to say to my wonderful little princess, regardless that the meaning of the phrase was probably way over the reach of her 2-year-old pretty head.

Always the apple of my eye, she responded sweetly: "Don't worry, Daddy. I'll fix it. I'll fix your heart." If I wasn't wrapped around her finger already, I certainly was now. Reflexively, I turned to see if her mom had heard this cute little offer of love. She had and we got to share one of those perfect little moments between parents.

If nothing else, Ari made up for the time that she and I had the following exchange:

Me: I love you, Ari.
Ari: Awww. And I like you, Daddy.

While on break, we listen to Sound Tribe Sector 9

"You got your electronica in my jam band."

"You got your jam band in my electronica."

"Let's call it STS9."



Overheard, a later conversation about STS9:

"It's great. You can either jog to it or you can take a bath to it."

In Nashville, the music can always make your night.

Back Story

I love Nashville. There's something about this city that may be the same in others, but surely not most. The overall musical talent level is so high here that one can walk into just about any bar on any night and hear for a $5 cover, if any cover at all, talent that would easily be able to charge $20 or more almost anywhere else. One night, maybe fifteen years ago, I wandered into Nashville's Douglas Corner Cafe, expecting a beer or two and, at worst, some passable singer-songwriter stuff. Playing instead was music I was aware of but had never really heard. The famous Nashville Jug Band was on stage and their playing pretty much knocked me on my ass. Whatever the talent level was (and it was pretty high), the sense of fun that exuded from those players and their instruments was impossible to chart.

In the coming weeks and months, I'd go to Douglas Corner each and every time they'd play. Sadly, being pretty busy musicians on their own, and I guess doing this more as a hobby than anything else, they didn't play often. So many years have gone by and I'd pretty much forgotten about them and the whole experience.

Fast forward to tonight.

It was a long and slow night at the hotel. Hardly anyone was checking in and, if given the chance to go home early, I would have jumped at it. Thirty minutes before the end of my shift, I was lucky to help a wonderfully nice couple with their luggage. And the beauty of conversation turned my dull night into a beautifully memorable one. I would have talked with them for hours if I could. They're retired photographers for the local paper. (I'm far from any pro, but I love taking pictures.) He's really, really into music. (Me, too.) He's a Blues archivist and plays in a band called the Jake Leg Stompers. I've listened to a couple of cuts on their site and I'm in awe. As he said to me earlier tonight in what wasn't quite self-deprecating as it may sound: "We don't let good talent get in the way of good fun." Or something like that. Bottom line -- the talent is great, but the sense of fun is even better.

It made my night to talk music and iPods, and photography and the archiving of photos with a wonderfully awesome couple of people tonight. I hope they have a wonderful night.

Heads up...

The Jake Leg Stompers, playing "pre-war roots music," will be playing live at The Station Inn on Saturday, December 22. Ten bucks gets you in. Care to join me?

Sasha Say...

My favorite music writer links to "the record review of the year."

Sounds good to me.

Her Daisy Rock guitar sure is a beauty.

I was lucky to meet a country music legend the other night. Playing right this minute at the famous Ernest Tubb Midnite Jamboree is this week's host, "The Queen of Rockabilly," Wanda Jackson.

We talked for a bit and she was kind enough to open her guitar case for me. Therein lay her famous pink Daisy Rock guitar. "Made specifically for women," she told me. She's playing it now and everything sounds wonderful. I wish I was at the show, but listening to it live online suffices nicely.

Archives of the Ernest Tubb Midnite Jamboree, live from the Texas Troubadour Theatre, are here. Nashville's musical heritage always makes me smile.

Anja Garbarek

Go to NPR Music and hear beautiful transcendence.

I've read comparisons to Bjork, but it's Portishead I hear.

There is a Butter Bomb Bath in my near future and this will be the music I play while I soak and hide temporarily from the rest of life's sound and fury.

Anja Garbarek's father, it should be noted, is avant-jazz guitarist Jan Garbarek.

Quantum Beauty

Stuff like this makes my head both marvel and spin:

In a nutshell, the theory suggests that we change things simply by looking at them and theorists have puzzled over the implications for years.

Another excerpt:

New Scientist reports a worrying new variant as the cosmologists claim that astronomers may have accidentally nudged the universe closer to its death by observing dark energy, a mysterious anti gravity force which is thought to be speeding up the expansion of the cosmos.

And another:

"The intriguing question is this," Prof Krauss told the Telegraph. "If we attempt to apply quantum mechanics to the universe as a whole, and if our present state is unstable, then what sets the clock that governs decay? Once we determine our current state by observations, have we reset the clock? If so, as incredible as it may seem, our detection of dark energy may have reduced the life expectancy of our universe."

Can we just exist long enough to see the Titans thrill us with a consistent deep-threat passing game? Will Axl Rose's Chinese Democracy see the light of day before we are all lost to the universe's dark energy?

CERN's Large Hadron Collider is due to switch on in '08. It will attempt to recreate that fraction of a second after the Big Bang some 13.7 billion years ago.

And then there's Surfer Dude's Theory of Everything.

There's nothing more beautiful to me than appreciating and trying to understand life as we know it.

Enjoy every moment.

Happy/Sad

Baby steps to a joyous season.

Easing into the Christmas spirit now.

I've always had some kind of aversion to the whole thing. At least it's how I've been since adulthood. While in my early 20s, my friend Chris and I would make the rounds on Thanksgiving, visiting various family tables, eating and chatting, but always ending up in a movie theater later on in the evening, pouring Wild Turkey or Southern Comfort into our expensive soft drinks and dealing separately with our own issues, whatever they were.

'Tis the season for wondering why I never feel at ease in a crowd, even a crowd of loving family members. I smile politely and hope that I don't say something embarrassing or reveal that I don't belong. Angst at any age is both silly and all-consuming. I miss those who are no longer with us, especially at this time of the year. Ron wrote today about something that really resonated with me. My grandmother, who I didn't realize wasn't flawless until recent years, embodied the season for me. Her boiled custard (made specifically for me, I'm sure) was simply the best. After she passed, I would begrudgingly buy store bought boiled custard and shake my head at how far removed from her recipe's wonderfulness it was. Now I drink it and it tastes pretty good. Time has done its thing and I cannot recall the taste of the preferred recipe. Its superiority is diminished in my mind and that only adds to my seasonal melancholy.

With Christmas approaching, I am more aware than any other time of the year that I can't afford gifts for those I love. I only wish I was seven again and all I had to do was come downstairs to a room full of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins and get to unwrapping gifts. I'm the dad now and it's up to me to mask my weird, unsettled feelings and memories and see the holiday through my kids' eyes.

I'm easing into the right spirit. Baby steps. Frank Sinatra's The Sinatra Christmas Album plays. It's simple, a bit sad but hopeful, and perfect for this late evening of reflection. We're out of boiled custard. I'll be sure to buy some more tomorrow.

Bobby Thompson - New CD, Site Revamped

Go to BobbyThompsonBanjo.com for more info.

Bah, humbug. (My toe hurts.)

While getting the stupid artificial Christmas tree out of the stupid storage closet, a stupid 20 lb. weight fell hard onto my toe.

Remember in A Christmas Story when Ralphie said "fudge," but he really said something else? Yep, I said that something else, too.

My wife asked me if I wanted to go to the ER. I gave the typical male answer.

And what kind of blogger would I be if I didn't post a picture of the pain?

(click below for the version with the blood)

Play in the sunshine.

Last night's dream.

Last night featured a dream whereupon I delivered luggage and room service to both Slash of Guns N Roses and Terrell Owens of the Dallas Cowboys. As none of the luggage was tagged with identification and I don't know the first thing about room service, it took me a long time - hours - to figure out what belonged where. Needless to say, I received no tip.

A birthday banquet was also taking place for my young niece and I was just too busy to stop in and say hi. Sounds about right. ;)

A post not about Peter Himmelman. It's about a former member of his band.

A nice memory from the Peter Himmelman's '94 show at Nashville's Ace of Clubs was a brief conversation I had with backup singer Kristin Mooney afterwards. She was very nice to me and I enjoyed our chat about Peter's profound and beautiful lyrics. Kristin's voice is absolutely lovely.

Have a listen to her own music here. I hate playing the "sounds like" game, as it never seems like a fully fair description of an artist and his or her work, but it is the quickest and easiest way to give the curious an idea of someone's sound. So...when listening to Kristin Mooney, other artists that are brought to mind include Aimee Mann, Sarah McLachlan, Sam Phillips and maybe Patty Scialfa.

I love what I'm hearing.

Bob Dylan, Peter Himmelman, and Harry Dean Stanton perform "Hava Nagila"

While perusing Himmelman videos on YouTube, I thought I saw myself in a live concert crowd shot. Alas, it wasn't me. Moving on.

Anyway, here's Peter with his father-in-law, Bob Dylan, and Harry Dean Stanton playing that Hebrew folk song that absolutely everybody knows.

The Pigeons Couldn't Sleep

Up since six o'clock, in at ten, and clocked out eleven hours later, I came home looking forward to some quality rest and relaxation before the following day's shift only to find that the sweet-hearted two-year-old is running a fever and will have to stay home from daycare tomorrow. There goes sleeping in. Again.

Currently, she is wide awake and comically chatty. I've got Himmelman's latest (The Pigeons Couldn't Sleep) playing and hopeful dreams of sleeping in on Wednesday instead of tomorrow on my mind. I'll be up early with my daughter tomorrow and if my wife can come home from her work early, I won't have to go to my work late. Otherwise, I'll be calling my boss and hoping he understands. How most working parents make it, I don't have a clue.

It's now midnight and her big brother just wandered into the room. Apparently, this is the house where no one sleeps. Despite the stress of losing sleep and work hours, I feel incredible peace right this minute. Peter Himmelman sings "Gratitude" and I know that I'm a rich man.

I'm glad that I can see
The brown eyes of my daughters
The moon on silent waters
Your forming silhouette moving across the room.

My own Chatty Cathy on the couch continues to tell me what she knows is true as I pray that she'll talk herself to sleep. I've got a print of that famous Doisneau photograph on one wall and a poster of the Eiffel Tower with fireworks behind it on another. It's so cute to hear my little girl describe them to me. I've finally gotten Joshua back to bed, but Ari is still giggly and chipper as she tells me that she likes to "eat good food so that I will grow." She adds that she likes ice cream. One of the good foods, I think she means.

I'm going to sleep next to my daughter tonight, assuming she's planning on falling asleep sometime soon.

Himmelman sings simply and perfectly in "Save A Little Honey":

Save your speeches for someone who cares
Save your teardrops to soften up your prayers
Save your dignity for God above
Save a little honey for the one you love.

I'll dance to that.

Read this excerpt from a story on Marketplace (audio in the link) about a nightclub in Rotterdam that is taking global warming concerns seriously.

Mike: We've called it "harvest your energy." With the electricity-generating dancefloor, we're trying to use that power that you've got to power the lights.

Rico: I guess my question is: If you've got a club that's even partially powered by dancers, what happens if the DJ really sucks, and nobody wants to dance?

Mike: (laughs) Yeah, that's a lost night; you should go home.

Meanwhile, back at Worm, a band called Pourquoi Me Reveiller rocks a crowd of 100 people. Some might not know or care the club's walls are made of recycled real estate signs. But Mike van Gaasbeek, chef de ping-ping, doesn't mind. The only thing that bugs him is calling the signs "recycled."

van Gaasbeek: It's actually "upcycled" because it's having a better life. It was in a dull office building, and now it's in a cool club.

Waiting my turn for the computer.

Eventually, I'll get out and see a show.

Ahhhh, Burlesque!...

Hellfire Horseshoe Revue, as photographed by Joshua Wilkins.

And Panty Raid! Dames, same fantastic photographer.

What I'm reading...

(as photographed by the four-year-old)

She can do it herself. She says so.

I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself.I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself. I do it myself.

I think they call this a roundup.

She loves her Dawgs and I love her. Give her a read and leave her a comment if you like.

One reason I love this online thing? I know this wonderful friend from Big Sky Country.

Stealing the best quote from a post I just read: "I just ordered two Newcastles and two juice boxes at the same bar. It was weird."

Wanna hear Mick Jones' latest project? Listen to this episode of the Pop Candy podcast. Some know him from The Clash. Some know him from Big Audio Dynamite. His latest band is called Carbon/Silicone.

On a personal note, I parked a lot of cars for free tonight at the hotel. People should really tip, but they rarely do. The last car was nice, though. U2's How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb played in the owner's CD player and I got to sit back and have a listen to "Crumbs from our Table." The song itself is about much larger issues than the life of this writer/bellboy, but its lyrics resonated nicely with me in regards to the lumps I so politely take most nights as I go about trying to provide for my family with equal parts smiles and subservience.

Thanks for reading. This blog is absolutely unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but I enjoy writing for it some nights as if it's everything I have to offer. So it's a nice way to close my nights.

Thanks again,

Mike

"Do you know Mark Twain?"

I clocked out and drove down the hill on my way home tonight, stopping in at the gas station on the corner to pick up a Coke and a lottery ticket. I placed my Coke onto the counter along with the latest issues of Nashville Scene and All The Rage that I had grabbed on the way in. As he was ringing up my purchase, the young immigrant clerk asked me a question. It wasn't all too weird of a question, but something about it took me by surprise.

"Do you know Mark Twain?" he asked.

Maybe it was the phrasing of it that forced my brain to take the extra seconds to analyze it. Not, 'Do you know of Mark Twain?' but 'Do you know Mark Twain?' - as if this Mark Twain is a guy who works with me, a dishwasher or a busboy at the hotel. I'm also not used to too much talking at the convenience store. I'm a regular and he and I have exchanged pleasantries before. Some nights he asks me how my night's going, sometimes I remark on the song playing on his radio, but that's about the extent of our conversations. We're friendly but busy.

"The writer?" I finally responded.

"Yes," he replied. "He said something about kindness."

I love this guy. My day had been long, hard and I'd made hardly any money to show for it. I'd stopped in to buy two things I really didn't need but now I was enjoying a role in an unexpectedly intriguing exchange.

"I like what Mark Twain said about kindness. I think he said, 'The language of kindness is one that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.' Something like that. He wrote The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, right?"

"Yeah," I answered. "Great book. I hadn't heard that quote before. I like that. Thanks for sharing that with me."

We smiled and I noticed that another customer had walked up in line and was ready to checkout. With a wave and a friendly goodbye, I made my way out to my Honda to continue my trip home. The workday had pretty much been a bust, but I was thankful to have shared a small moment with my friend at the gas station.

On Peter Himmelman

Some artists are just so talented that it is always a source of frustration for their fans that they are not more well-known for their work. One such artist is singer-songwriter Peter Himmelman. I was lucky to see him the one and only time that he performed in Nashville (that I know of) and I still remember that as the best concert I've ever attended. (And I've seen both Bruce Springsteen and Tom Waits!) I have no doubt that everyone who was in attendance still remembers that night as one of the more magical of shows. Sadly, his show at the Ace of Clubs was poorly attended, and I must admit that my ticket was a comp from the opening act's record company.

That concert dates back to 1994 and I only recently discarded the shirt that my friend, the club manager, later gave me. Oft-worn, so many girlfriends have wanted me to throw it away over the years, but I always resisted. That shirt, ultimately sleeveless, with ever-growing rips and tears, and survivor of who knows how many washings finally got to the point where even I couldn't justify wearing it around the house. I mourn its passing. And I search the internet for a replacement.

Anyway, Peter Himmelman continues to impress me with his thoughtful lyrics and profound observations. I just wish his talent could be appreciated on a larger scale. While he stays busy writing music for television shows and releasing a successful series of children's CDs, it's still his other more personal work that never fails to move me.

I typed his name into a news search engine tonight and learned through a touching piece by Willam Pesek that slain journalist Daniel Pearl was also a big fan of Himmelman and his work. I don't know why, but it's cool to me to think of Mr. Pearl listening to Skin or From Strength To Strength and closing his eyes while taking in the words and music just as I do. Or anxiously awaiting club doors to open while clutching a ticket in his hand just as I did that one awesome night in '94. It's not just that Daniel Pearl is a person of specific significance, but more that it's always nice to feel some connection with people who are moved by the same things.

If I could, I'd ask Mr. Pearl how he came to know Himmelman and his music. Did the opening track of Skin surprise him as much as it did me? Did Himmelman ever get a conga line going at any of the shows he caught as was the case at the one I attended?

Regardless, I'm glad to have come across such a nice mention of Peter Himmelman tonight. I'll reserve some time this evening to close my eyes and listen to his music. It's really fantastic stuff.

From William Pesek's article:

Danny and I met in the mid-1990s, when we worked in the same office. We weren't
the kind of friends who'd call one another at 4 a.m. amid a crisis; we were
buddies who would brainstorm on stories, swap bizarre travel tales and down a
few beers together here and there.
We first bonded over music -- a
Minneapolis musician named Peter Himmelman. We agreed he was greatest songwriter
virtually no one had heard of and we'd go to Himmelman's concerts together, once
making our way backstage to meet him. ... more>>

She's only two years old and she already has favorite Bon Jovi songs.

Rock God

"Sound is..."

"Sound is touch at a distance," says Ann Fernald.

Heard on the wonderful Radio Lab radio show and podcast.

Fun with iTunes

I'm finally being a smart boy and backing up my iTunes library to disc. This will take approximately 22 discs and maybe a couple of hours.

What I didn't count on was the fact that a lot of this time and space includes the backing up of all of my podcasts.

Music: 5.98 GB

Podcasts: 8.86 GB

This seems entirely unnecessary to me.

And now after 5 discs burned, it doesn't even seem to be trying anymore. It just spits the blank discs back out within seconds of me closing the tray without doing anything to them.

I'll abort and come back to this later. After ditching over 8 GB of podcasts.

I'm a copycat.

See?

the same moon

"And I was pacing myself, trying to make it all last
Squeezing all the life out of a lousy two-day pass
And I had a cold one at the Dragon with some Filipino floor show
And I talked baseball with a lieutenant over a Singapore Sling
And I wondered how the same moon outside over this Chinatown fair
Could look down on Illinois and find you there
I know I love you, baby"

from "Shore Leave" by Tom Waits

photo by Leesa White

Ladies and gentlemen...the afterlife.

From a news story about spooky hotels:

And watch your bellman closely upon your arrival -- or he may disappear with your luggage. There are rumours a former Banff Springs bellman named Sam, who passed away years ago, still enjoys helping guests with their bags.

I've been lugging luggage for almost twelve years now. This pretty much makes me a lifer. Poor Sam above seems to be an after-lifer. Once a bellman, always a bellman. Even after death.

I'm reminded of The Village Voice's description of the new film, Wristcutters: A Love Story.
An excerpt:

But death does not bring oblivion. The ruling joke is that the afterlife is the same as the world of the living, only worse. Suicide is a form of downward mobility: The streets are shabbier, the colors less vibrant, the jobs lousier, and the people more depressed.

I love the trailer. It looks quirky and whimsical. And it has Tom Waits. I'm in.

"Flat is how I feel," said my front-right tire.

"So do I," I replied. "So do I."

Checking In

Sasha Frere-Jones on the new Starbucks/iTunes card.

"Here is the question: if you have a computer and know where your iTunes store is, why would you buy this card? The exact same product is available on the iTunes site for the exact same price, and all you need to do is click the “Buy Album” button to make it yours. There are several explanations ..." more>>

How bored am I?

I'm killing time reading my own dang blog.

Dirty Sexy Monkey

From the police report: “One monkey, two feet high, color brown, name unknown, disposition terrible.”

Read more about this simian interloper here.

The kid picks the picture.

I'm watching the Colts-Pats game on NFL.com, not on my television.

I suppose I already had my fun watching the Titans handle the Panthers, 20-7. Now it's the 4-year-old's turn for entertainment by TV.

Power Rangers: Operation Overdrive it is.

I suppose I can always watch highlights of the game later. In my son's defense, I doubt there's a Power Rangers highlight show.

Sigh.

The elusive Ninja kitten, captured!

Photo by my favorite photographer/blogger, Leesa at Peace Of My Mind.

Eye of the tiger? Um, not quite a tiger. Maybe a meercat.

With all of the talk of this week's NFL undefeateds going up against one another, every paper breaking down the matchup between the 8-0 Pats and the 7-0 Colts, Brady-Manning, Belicheck-Dungy, I got to wondering about those two NFL teams on the other side of the radar. How about the winless Miami Dolphins and their cellar dweller counterparts, the St. Louis Rams? Are they playing each other this year? Could there be a matchup determining which of the two would remain all-beaten just as the Colts-Pats game should reveal who of the two will remain unbeaten? Nope. There is no matchup of the hapless in sight.

However, the Fins and Rams do have one more thing in common besides a big fat zero in the win column. This is the one week guaranteeing no more harm to either franchise. Both have byes this week. I wondered if anyone else was writing about this shared sigh of relief for both teams. One quick search found that Bryan Burwell of MSNBC had a few thoughts about the matter. Read and enjoy his take here.

While most of us will be rightly fixated on watching Indy and New England face off in what is likely Part I of a two part matchup (a post-season slug-fest seems destined), morbid curiosity begs the question: Who of the two worst in the league is just a hair enough better to walk away a winner after 60-minutes of thus far poor football? It doesn't have to be televised (thank God), but I think even the players for those teams would like to know. Like Rocky Balboa and Apollo Creed at the end of Rocky III, throwing punches behind closed doors, no one knowing but them how it would turn out, these two very real - and really bad - football teams should find a dome that is not being used this weekend, line up, and find out which of them is not quite as bad as the other. It's my guess that the Rams would win, but no one would be able to walk away from the game with any swagger. Still, I'd like to see it.

They'll both get some regular season wins soon enough. Or not soon enough for them, I guess.

My favorite CD.

Also my favorite concert ever. 1994. Ace of Clubs.

On a music related note, Newton Dominey is playing tonight at the Bluebird. Word has it that he'll be performing Springsteen's "American Skin (41 Shots)."

I wish I was there to hear it. Go if you can.

"...but ain't we got love."

That great C.E. Smith song, "(We're Not) The Jet Set" has been in my head this afternoon. It fits us here at Chez Beziat.

"No, We're not the jet set
We're the old Chevro-let set
Our steak and martinis
Is draft beer with weenies
Our Bach and Tchaikovsky
Is Haggard and Husky
No, we're not the jet set
We're the old Chevro-let set
But ain't we got love"

My Christmas present from her has been confirmed. A renewed subscription to Paste Magazine, a subscription that we had previously canceled due to monetary concerns. Thanks to their new, name-your-price-get-it-for-less-than-a-buck deal, it's back to my mailbox. If this is New Media, I'm loving every minute of it. Looks like I may get the new Radiohead, too.

Now if it was just this easy to buy things for my wife. Georgia football season tickets aren't going for the dollar amount of my choice also, are they?