Category: tunes

Music. Bands. Songs. Concerts.

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back when i did nothing

Hi from Wednesday night.  Sitting here playing with an iPhone… yeah, I know I said I wasn’t going to jump on that wave, but when the sawmill finances it – it’s hard to deny.  So, on the bandwagon I climb…

Right now the iPod shuffled up “Morning Bell” from Radiohead’s brilliant Kid A album. I think I’ve written about it before, but this album brings back such strong memories for me. It dropped shortly after I started working here at my current job, when I was still the new guy and no one know what I should be doing. I can remember spending what seemed like interminable days simply browsing the internet, listening to CDs, writing, having absolutely no clue what I was supposed to be working on, and feeling guilty about it to boot. In fact, and I’m almost certain I’ve written this before, I can recall vividly standing in the bathroom after work one day staring at myself in the mirror, angry and ashamed for essentially stealing money from the sawmill.

I used my time as best I could: Spending it online researching various things, letting the web lead me from one topic of interest to the next. During those long months of being corporate flotsam, I became fascinated with alchemy (both the “let’s make gold from rocks” kind and the more metaphysical Jungian kind), brushed up on my knowledge of serial killers (no real explanation there), and did a good bit of “spiritual” research (I dunno, a phase, at the time). I listened to a lot of music, I wrote a lot, and I wondered what the hell this “career” I’d chosen was ultimately going to end up being. Looking back now, I can understand how things like that happen – and realize that those pointless months in the grand scheme of an operation as large as this really mean next to nothing. So I skated along under the radar, they’ve got me in a reverse-naked now and are wringing me for every dollar. Honestly, I prefer the crunch…

Anyway, just hearing this album reminds me of those days instantly. The environment then was so lonely. I sat isolated from most of the “team” I was supposed to contribute to, and I had bounced back and forth between no less than three managers (always a bad thing for someone knowing what the heck you do). The people who did sit next to me were in roughly the same boat, but I didn’t really hit it off with either of them – and wasn’t that interested in developing non-working relationships with them. I still think back to the time when I finally got transferred under a good manager with a team that was executing. From there it was a simple connect-the-dots to meeting the friend-base I have now.  Time, time, time… I suppose.

And, that, is what I have to say tonight.

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a little bit country?

Sunday afternoon and we’re back from a great weekend away.

Up the hills, across the bridge, and down the bumpy road we went.  We sidled up to the river and stayed a couple nights, staving off the heat of the day by playing in frigid waters and moving camp chairs with the shade.  Anyway, we’re back and unpacked and the dirt’s all down the drain with our bathwater.  Sharaun headed out with her friends for a nail appointment, Keaton’s napping, and I’m sitting here watching The Magnificent Seven on this humongous TV we recently got.  And even though it, like most of the things I tend to like watching, isn’t anything near HD (what do you expect for 1960?), it really seems somehow dustier and grittier and gunfightier.

I’m gonna talk a little bit about music, hope that’s OK.

Those of you who know me likely know that I am, in general terms, not a fan of country music.  Then again, those of you who know me a little better may know that I am a fan of some “roots” type country music like bluegrass and the early 19th century country-blues of the American South.  It’s just the “modern” country that I don’t like.  And, before you country people get all on my case – I’m not even talking about the whole “crossover country” thing that’s been going down now for ten or fifteen years; I’m talking about “traditional modern” country (I know, it’s an oxymoron, but it’s what I mean).  Anyway, I’ve always known that a lot of older “roots” country represents a large black hole in what I know about the evolution of music – I’ve just never tried to dive-in and figure it all out.  But, that changed a while back.

Sharaun and I were invited over to dinner with friends, and while we were there they were playing the “classic” country channel on Sirius.  Now, I’d always known I have some sort of affinity for rootsy, early-sounding “hillbilly folk” or “honky tonk” type stuff, as evidenced by the immediate shine I took to albums like John Prine’s self-titled debut and nearly everything Gram Parsons and the Flying Burrito Brothers did during the roots-country rennaisance of the late 60s and early 70s.  But, that night nearly every single track that beamed down from the satellite radio seemed like a gem.  The rough nature of the tunes reminded me of the same reasons I adore things like Robert Johnson’s scant recorded history, or things like John Fahey’s Blind Joe Death: in them you can hear the embryonic sounds of decades of music yet to come.  After enjoying the soundtrack to our evening so much that night, I decided I’d spend some time questing for a good “classic country” primer.

The problem is, to make a decent and somewhat complete introduction to the birth of country music is not an easy task.  At first I began looking for some sort of compilation, maybe Rhino Records has done something, maybe some budget-bin put-togethers that managed to put a bunch of old songs together on disc when their copyrights lapsed or something.  Turns out, though, that the history of country music is a huuuuge beast, with twists and turns and reels and reels of music.  I tried reading threads on hardcore country music message boards for tips on good catch-all comps, I browsed through Usenet groups looking for homemade lists of essential classic country, I searched the internet far and wide – and couldn’t find much.

At first, I had decided to try and make my own collection.  I would download the best-ofs from luminaries like Cash, Lefty, Hank, Willie, Mel, Autry, etc. and just cobble together my own thing.  And, that’s how I started, just grabbing (and by “grabbing” I mean exchanging cash-money for) all sort of stuff.

I didn’t get far, however, when I happened upon a description of a twenty-CD collection called The History of Country and Western. This enormous compilation spans the years from 1927 to 1951, and was put together by a German label (go figure).  After looking over the tracklist, I decided this was the holy grail compilation I’d been looking for.  Sure, there’d still be stuff stretching into the early to mid 60s I’d need (to complete my strange “bookmark” years of when I figure the music was “pure” and not the twangy lost-love crap it turned into), but this thing would give my collection a huge jumpstart.

And boy, I was right.  This is an excellent compilation.  I mean, there’s nary a bum groove on this thing.  OK so it’s nowhere near something everyone’s gonna get into, but it’s one awesome historical document of the birth of a genre.  I sat spellbound listening to them on my first run-through, which was unfortunately brief (I plan on hitting the thing hard tomorrow at work), each track a little piece of music revelation previously unknown to me.  Seriously, I recommend it to anyone.  The best part about it is that it’s dirt-freakin’ cheap.  Amazon carries it if you want to get one for yourself.  Again, it’s got the nod of my hat.

So… somehow, I’ve gotten into country (please don’t misquote me on that, and no Sugarland albums for Christmas please, I will throw up).  Makes me happy, really, because I know there are so many more rocks out there unturned – so much good music I’ve still yet to hear.  I mean, what’s next?  Reggea?  Disco?  Standards?  No, no, and no, most likely… but still, I love hearing new stuff.

Anyway, I’m about done now… that thing kinda took off and spawned more paragraphs than I figured it would.  So, I’m gonna go enjoy the rest of my Sunday evening, maybe throw together some leftover Smores ingredients with a bowl of vanilla ice cream or something… who knows.

Goodnight y’all.

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atoms of music

So, I know… I took a little haitus.  Truth be told, it wasn’t some 1,000th-post respite or anything, I was just occupied evenings the past couple days.  I hope you’ll forgive me the disappearance, and pray you’ll fall right back into that daily groove with me again.

Me, I’ve been doing fine.  A few of our clique have recently succumbed to a nasty stomach virus, which is now making its way through the group.  A pillar of natural hardiness, this would normally phase me little.  However, I can’t help shake this strange tingly-chills thing, and I have the odd sensation that my body is working to defend itself.  And, with a camping trip looming this weekend – I’ve got petitions out to several dieties (a good engineer should always try to cover the spread), just in case.

Now, for something completely boring.

Not too long ago, I came up with the concept of the atomic appreciation of music.  See, I think everyone appreciate the tunes they enjoy at different atomic levels.  Let me explain by giving an example: For me, my “atom” of music is the album.  I consume my music in albums; I acquire and catalog my music by the album; and, for most part (with a few exceptions) I judge the “goodness” of an artists’ effort based on the sum quality of the album which contains it.  Now, this is not to say that there’s no place for the single, because I’ll admit I have my share of one-night stands when it comes to a good catchy tune, but, for me personally, the album is the base-unit.  I don’t download songs, I download albums (let it be known, however, that I pay for everything I do download in real American dollars that I’ve earned working at my job).

The thing is, I don’t think this is the way most people consume their music.  And, to be honest, it has its drawbacks.  I think I’m less apt to enjoy the sparkling singularity of a stellar one-hit-wonder because of it, and I’m also prone to looking down my nose at an entire LPs worth of songs just because of one or a couple stinkers.  I think most people are more prone to enjoying their music on the atomic level of the song.  This, in fact, seems quite logical, when you consider it.  But, whether it’s the collector in me or what, I’m stuck on the album.  And, there are some rewards for this… think about Zeppelin’s 2nd LP, or Delaney & Bonnie’s Motel Shot.  Albums that just play like a solid wall of awesome, think Arcade Fire’s Funeral, or Sgt. Pepper.  Yeah, for real.

OK, I’ve just wanted to type that for so long… I know it’s not fun to read.  Apologies.

And, unfortunately, I’ve got nothing more.  I swear I’ll make a comeback next week.  Forgive.

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best of 2008.5


Well folks, I’m a few weeks later than I wanted to be with this, but I think early July is still a valid time to publish a best-of list for the halfway point of 2008. This is something I’ve been doing now for a few years, and I know it’s pretty boring for the lot of you. But, it’s something I enjoy doing, so I’m gonna stick with it and press ahead. Who knows, maybe one day Keaton will reference these lists to see what Dad was “into” back in the day – maybe even make a mixtape of Dad’s “oldies” when she hits that parental-appreciation phase sometime in college. A guy can dream…

I know you’re on the edges of your seats, so here they are, in reverse-countdown order:

8. Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra & Tra-La-La Band – 13 Blues for Thirteen Moons

‎‎Yeah, the first twelve tracks on this album are just some high-pitch warble not unlike what you’d hear rubbing a dampened finger around the rim of a piece of good crystal, each one just a few seconds long and less than a minute all together back-to-back. But, that’s just the overindulgence of the band showing, just the preamble to yet another somber string-and-guitar laden dirge of an album.

Let me be clear right up front, this music isn’t for everyone. It’s whiny and dark, it’s angry and the tunes are as far from common pop as you can get, the themes are long and dense, and, for some reason, it always makes me think about the end of the world. Yeah, this is some serious shiz. Each song like some fifteen minute funeral procession for all of mankind and our entire planet (but, maybe that’s just me). You’re either gonna hate this, or you’re going to love it for the same reasons I do: The simple repetition, the seething, the bad-ass backing chants, and the drone of strings. If you’re curious, just go get it – and try not to wring your hands in an anger while it crunches along in your ears. Yes…

Listen to A Silver Mt. Zion at the Hype Machine.

7. Wolf Parade – At Mount Zoomer

The album that barely made the list. Not because it’s on the edge of being good enough, but because it leaked right under the wire. Even with the abbreviated time I had to appreciate it, I knew Wolf Parade’s second showing was a strong one. Not straying too terribly much from the formula that gave them the top spot in 2005’s year-end list, they continue to push their bright and drums-out-front brand of “indie” rock. Even if the closing track is about three times too long and half as interesting as it seems like it could be, the rest of the grooves are filled with energy quick-changes that’ll leave you impressed. With lots of keys and synth and swirling background fills there’s plenty to keep you dissecting the sound. A solid showing by the Parade, and worthy of your inspection.

Listen to Wolf Parade at the Hype Machine.

6. Jason Collett – Here’s To Being Here

‎‎I’ll just tell you what’s up with this album right out of the gate: We listened to it non-stop, almost daily, in fact, while we were vacationing in Mexico earlier in the year. To be honest, it’s the perfect soundtrack for a humid sun-drenched vacation spent sipping tropical drinks poolside or playing with your two year-old daughter on the bed while the cooling whir of the ceiling fan pushes the hot open-sliding-door air aside.

What’s that though? You want to know what you’re gonna hear if you listen to this album? Well, don’t expect anything even remotely like what the Broken Social Scene puts together, even though Mr. Collett is an alum of that band (they’re all making solo bows of late, a coordinated effort it seems). When the needle drops on this you’re going to hear roots rock, you’re going to think Dylan – there’s no way in the world you’re not gonna hear Dylan… Collett’s croon and even lyrics recall the master immediately. So, what’s this album good for? Backyard summer barbecues; days spent in chairs alongside a river; road trips; poolside get-togethers.

I’ll summarize thusly: If you think most of the stuff I have on hear is neaveau-rock BS, get this record and be pleasantly surprised at how “normal” and enjoyable it is to Joe Lite Rock. C”mon, you know you’re a little curious… for your next BBQ and all…

Listen to Jason Collett at the Hype Machine.

5. The Hold Steady – Stay Positive

‎‎So, the Hold Steady are back with their 4rd album. I never did get into their first couple goes, but I gave their 3rd effort the crown back in 2006. Much to the disgust of several of my friends, who can’t stand Finn’s talk-singing storytelling, often on anachronistically, for the band’s age, juvenile topics like high-school parties, drinking, wanton sexual encounters and recreational drug use.

I, on the other hand, eat this stuff for breakfast. The lyrics remind me of a time in my life that may or may not have really happened the way I remember it – but sure is fun to remember that way regardless. It’s just bar-rock people, just plain old guitar and drums and bass and beer-soaked vocals. I would suggest you grab one of those little bowls of nuts, get a firm grip on your frosty mug, light a cigarette if you’re in one of the less-Draconian states that still allow it, and try to identify all the classic rock references in “Joke About Jamaica.” It’s a fun album, give it that much at least.

Listen to The Hold Steady at the Hype Machine.

4. Cloud Cult – Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes)

‎‎This is another example of an album I chose to download solely because of the name. I’d never heard of the band before, although I later learned they’ve got a decent amount of material prior to this. Didn’t matter though, because I love finding something completely “new” with bolt-from-the-blue inherent goodness. Yeah it’s your typical quirky indie-rock, fairly formulaic but done well and extremely catchy. To be honest, I was afraid that while revisiting the tunes for this midyear review I might find them boring and old-hat, but not so. They still sound fun and beg for playback at high volume with the windows rolled down. And don’t let the “ehh, standard but good” review throw you, either – there are some great little pieces of song on this album, check out the story on “May Your Hearts Stay Strong,” set to that neato beatsy backdrop – you won’t be sorry you did.

Listen to Cloud Cult at the Hype Machine.

3. Islands – Arm’s Way

‎‎So, the Islands. The Islands are formed from pieces of the Unicorns, a band I simply adored for the rollicking style of rock they created, with childish lyrics and powerful music. When they released their post-Unicorns debut, I reviewed it well and ranked it highly in the 2006 list. I had high expectations for their sophomore effort, and the youngsters didn’t let me down – no not by a long shot. I like every song on this album, I like the vocals, I like the bubbly cartoonish beats that carry you along, I like the nonsensical lyrics and storytelling, and I love the fact that, the first time hearing it all, I regretted I didn’t already know the words well enough to sing along.

There’s a song on this album called “Creeper” that you should really hear. Admittedly, it’s not the best track on the album, but it is a decent introduction to the off-the-wall style that flavors the entire effort – with the stabbing string sections, scale-climbing groove-bass, and all the cracks filled with nifty little synth lines and fills. Oh, and then there are the lyrics – where lead singer Nick Diamond recounts a story of coming home to what he thinks is an empty house, only to be stabbed by a stranger hiding in the shadows.

Listen to The Islands at the Hype Machine.

2. Vampire Weekend – Vampire Weekend

‎‎I guess I was actually late to the Vampire Weekend party. When the internet indie-snobs began slobbering over the “blue CD-R” leaked version of their debut LP, I downloaded it and gave it a listen or two, even put it on the iPod, but never really got too into it. I’m not positive, but I think the “blue CD-R” version must’ve been an unmastered leak, something lacking the production of their final “polished” release. Then, when I saw the street-released version shoot to the top of the “most downloaded” charts on the completely legal pay-hard-cash-for-music website I get most of my tunes from, I decided to give it another try.

I can still remember how crisp and cold it was outside in Portland the day I first really listened to the album. I was riding public transit from the airport into work, more than an hour’s worth of travel through downtown out into the suburbs. And, even if I’m wrong about the “blue CD-R” and its poor mastering, that album struck me that day. I felt the African-tinged rhythms pick up my spirits, bouncy and Graceland reminiscent, but with these punchy have-fun vocals stringing you along, hooking you.

Just stop reading this and go listen to “Walcott,” and tell me you don’t feel like donning your best-fitting khakis, slipping into some deck shows, tying a sweater around your neck and playing a rousing round of croquet with your “brothers” on the frathouse lawn, tumbler of scotch in-hand under the Massachusetts sunshine. Look, just go get the album, the Midwestern dandy inside you will thank you for it.

Listen to Vampire Weekend at the Hype Machine.

1. Cut Copy – In Ghost Colours

‎‎Oh my word, Dave picks a “beats” album as his #1. Sharaun says this is “gay club music.” She teases me that this is what Perez Hilton listens to, says it’s “that gay.” And, sure, it’s got infectious beats and rhythms, sure there’s some limey singing about dancing and love and whatnot – I just don’t care.

The Utah Saints vibe, the strummy guitar accompaniment, and all the “aaahhh” and “oohhh” you care to warble along with. If you know me, you know I don’t often dig beats-based electronic albums, but the mix here is too good to turn an ear from. I don’t care if the entire percussion section is comprised of a sequencer and a Roland, doesn’t mean I have to wear baggy pants and suck on pacifier or anything. But by God in Heaven y’all, this record will get you moving. If you’re so inclined, it may even get you dancing. Me, I’ll stay firmly rooted to my seat thanks, although I may shake and sway in place there if the mood strikes – might even do some Mitsubishi car-commercial arm-dancing, you never know what might bubble up with this saccharine stuff on the speakers. You don’t want to miss this record, for real.

Listen to Cut Copy at the Hype Machine.

Well, that’s it for today. There were a couple near-misses that I wrote up, trying to hit a list of then, but decided at the last minute didn’t really warrant inclusion (I’m looking at you Tapes ‘N’ Tapes). Lotsa work here even if you didn’t read it all. Thanks for indulging me a bit. Goodnight, and, until tomorrow, take care friends.

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to ease my conscience

Know what?  Andy Griffith does look like crap on a 50″ HDTV.  I knew it.  It looks sweet, however, when viewed from DVD on the same said TV.  Too bad I’m, for the most part, too lazy to queue up episodes on DVD versus an episode recorded off TVLand last night.   The poor guy who came to hook up the HD ended up spending five hours of his morning here, and I ended up spending an entire day “working” from home when I didn’t intend to.  Those kind of days always make me feel guilty – when I, for whatever reason, can’t focus on work; like I’m stealing a paycheck.  Guess I’ll have to work double-hard tomorrow to ease my conscience.

The other day I happened upon a backup copy of the Microsoft Access database I wrote and used to manage all the CD trading and selling I used to do back in college and through into our early California years.  I’d long ago password protected the thing, just because I was worried it would be a treasure trove of evidence against me should I ever find myself prosecuted.  And, of course, I promptly forgot the password.  Over the years I’ve tried a couple times to brute-force my way into the thing, casting my mind back to passwords of yore, but I’ve never been successful.  I don’t know why I want to look at it, I just do.  Then, the other day, when I randomly came across the thing, I decided, also randomly, to try one of my modern “stronger” passwords on it.  Surprisingly, it opened right up.

Once inside this thing it was like a walk down memory lane, with names from the past and a regular timeline of when I acquired all my best illicit discs.  Not to mention a running record of all the monetary exchanges I made back in my “copies of rare discs for money” days.  For kicks, I cut all the money I was paid out of Access and into Excel, where I could sum it.  Imagine my shock when I found that, between January 1999 and September 2002, I apparently made a whopping ~$7,000 selling burned CDs.  Wow.  And, of course, I reported all this income on my 1999, 2000, 2001, and 2002 income tax returns – as any dutiful citizen of this great nation would and should.  Crazy, right?

In other news, the smoke that hung thick over our city last week has finally blown away, and has been replaced with blue skies and warm weather; Keaton’s still keeping her “big girl panties” dry; and my head still isn’t “into” writing.  I’ve just been too consumed during the day to think about writing.  I’m sorry, maybe it’ll work itself out by tomorrow.  For now, though, this is all I have.

Goodnight.

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jailbreak!

Sunday afternoon ’round about four o’clock and Radiohead has shuffled up on the iPod.  I just got done doing dishes and wiping down the counters and kitchen table (an extended Dead jam provided the sonic backdrop whilst I Cinderella’d).  Sharaun’s out in the hammock sunning and Keaton’s asleep.  What better time to crack the top on a Hefeweizen and sit down on the couch to tome (yeah, I verbized it).

It was a busy weekend, and it felt extra long, I think because I flew in on Friday and went straight to socializing, I remember I couldn’t stop feeling like it was Saturday night as we sat and played Euchre.  Maybe that’s the trick: get your brain to think it’s the next day, and then you get a “bonus” day each weekend.  Don’t know how to reproduce it, though, aside from the fog of traveling – and I don’t like the tradeoff.  So I guess I’ll just settle for the standard two-day weekends I’ve come to know and cherish… as there really the only sanctioned escape we get, eh?  Right.  Moving on.

For this next paragraph, I’ll ask you to recall a blog from not that long ago, where I wrote right here on sounds familiar about my “fear” concerning Keaton eventually learning to baby-Houdini her way out of her Pack ‘N’ Play.  Do you indeed recall, my dear reader?  You guys even commented on it.  Well, some of you guys (gals, whatever).  Still no?  It’s OK, I’ll link the thing right here and you can go refresh yoself.  Yoself refreshed?  OK then.

Well, going back for a moment to that Friday night I kept thinking was Saturday earlier this weekend (remember, you just read it) – it happened.  Yup.  As I cast my memory back over the past couple evenings, lemme see if I can set the scene for y’all.  We had gathered with a small group of friends at one of their houses to play some cards and hang out, and Sharaun had just put Keaton down to bed in her Pack ‘N’ Play in one of their spare rooms.  It was a hard-fought bedtime to begin with, as our friends have two young kids as well and one big playroom which bulges with toys – each one of them new and exciting for Keaton, not to mention the chance to play with other kids.  But Sharaun put up a valiant fight, singing our little angel into droopy eyes and metered deep breathing, sneaking out the door with a the loud smack of an air-kiss and a “Goodnight Keaton.”

And, with her down and quiet, we broke out the cards and began the first hand.  Cards were dealt, the girls bid six diamonds, the guys, one by one around the table, passed.  Cards came out, tricks were taken, and a good time was being had by all.  Then, out of nowhere, I see a little crop of blonde hair bouncing up the two flights of stairs towards where we were seated.  “Hey mommy look I woke up!,” smiled our triumphant baby.  “How the…,” Sharaun and I asked, looking at each other.  And then it hit me: She figured out how to climb free of the confines of the Pack ‘N’ Play.  Horror of horrors: She’s mobile.  (Well, to be brutally honest, as a dad, I was actually a little proud that she’d managed to climb out – that she was big and strong enough and not too scared to do it, but don’t tell Sharaun that).

Sharaun was not happy, and she scooped up babygirl without even giving me a chance to give her a second goodnight kiss to transport her back to bed.  After another ten minutes or so, she returned, lamenting that Keaton still wasn’t “having it.”  And, another five minutes after that – as we’d barely gotten into our second hands – she came trotting up the stairs once again.  Our friends laughed, and I had to just a little too (and again, her having done it second time only made me more proud because she could reproduce the feat).  I asked her, “Keaton, how did you get out of your Pack ‘N’ Play?”  “Because I wanted to play,” she answered, mishearing or misunderstanding the question.  “Yes, I know you want to play, but it’s time to sleep now baby.  Did you climb out of your Pack ‘N’ Play?”  “Yeah,” she answered, unconcerned as to whether it was “sleep time” or not.

In the end, we put her down in the crib our friends had setup in another room in preparation for their coming third.  She finally ended up hitting the sack then, but it was lucky the crib was there.  Funny enough, the next night saw us out socializing again and I put her down in the Pack ‘N’ Play with nary an issue (OK, she fought me on the sleep thing just a bit, but what two-year old doesn’t?).  So, I think she just wanted us to know that she can get out – if she wants to.  Well played Keaton, well played.  Man I love that little girl.

Goodnight fevers and dreams, goodnight lovers.

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too old for all this

Hi guys.  It’s Tuesday.  I finally uploaded some new pictures of Keaton to the gallery, go ahead and go check them out now before you come back and read another enthralling installment of sounds familiar.

Didn’t end up going to bed Monday night until nigh on one in the morning. That’s not good. I got caught up twiddling with the bootleg MP3-tagging script I wrote so long ago, after I discovered a bug while trying to tag-up some illicit Zeppelin files. Seems like I mess with the thing a couple times a year… maybe it’s good for me, keeps my coding kung-fu on-point (or something). I got up early to shave, too, being that my beard had degenerated into a twisted mess marching down to meet the chest hair curling skyward. It’s like the two are long-lost lovers, the evil Gillette corporation keeping them apart.

I’m supposed to go to a concert tonight in the city, The Fratellis.  Problem is, I leave for Portland tomorrow morning at 6am, which means I’ll need to be at the airport by 5am, which means I’ll need to leave the house around 4:30am, which means I’ll need to wake up around 4am.  Now, I don’t know how many of you have lived in the city I live in and gone to a show in San Francisco – but, if you had, you’d realize that you rarely get home before 2am afterward.  And, if you passed 3rd grade math you’ll realize that I’d be getting, at best, two hours of sleep tonight before having to wake and head out again for my flight.  So, long story short, I think I’m gonna bail on the concertgoing crowd and spend my time packing and getting an early hay-hitting time.

I’m just too old for all this.

Last night as Sharaun was putting Keaton to bed, she (Keaton) said, “Mommy, I recognize there’s no ducky on the wall.”  What she meant by that was that Sharaun hadn’t yet done the pre-bedtime nightlight shadow-ducky thing we do with her, but… “recognize?” Sometimes I wonder where she gets her words from.  I don’t think we  even use the word “recognize” that much… and I’m pretty sure I haven’t heard it on the Backyardigans.  That kid and her oratory-wizardry blow me away.

Goodnight.