This is one of many silly exercises that’s been going around Facebook ever since old fogeys like me discovered the site, and I find the idea very intriguing. But I maintain that most people who post their lists, as the lolcats would say, r doin it rong.
Most of the lists I’ve seen are just lists of people’s favorite albums—which is just fine, but it doesn’t answer the question.
Anybody can make a list of their favorite albums. I’ve done it several times. But the exercise is asking you to list those albums that changed your life in some way. The idea that a collection of songs could somehow change you from a crack addict to the CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation is absurd. By “changing your life,” I’ll settle for something along the lines of introducing you to a certain type of music, helping you get through a particularly difficult time, or providing the soundtrack for an important or happy time in your life.
They do not have to be your favorites. They may not even be albums you like. There are titles below that I don’t own on CD—and don’t really care to.
1. The Archies
Some of the most dishonest of these lists contain only albums from artists who’ve been around over the past 10 years or so. Which means that the writers apparently listened to no music until about 10 years ago. I asked myself, “What was the first pop music you remember hearing?” That’s why this list starts with the cartoon avatars for a group of nameless session musicians singing facile odes to young love. This was my introduction to pop music. I could have done a lot worse.
2. The Beatles (the “White Album”)
This was my introduction to adult pop music, and what an introduction it was. The White Album is often docked for being a sprawling, disorganized mess, but that’s what great about it. Consider that the Paul wrote both “I Will” and “Helter Skelter”—and that John wrote both “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” and “Julia.” Did any other band cover so much ground in so short a time?
3. Elvis’ Golden Records, Elvis Presley
I was too young for all the hysteria that accompanied Elvis’ entry into the national consciousness, but this album made me feel as if I’d been there. It contains the first evidence that proved that Elvis was The King.
4. Rubber Soul, The Beatles
It’s hard to believe now, but when I was little, any rock music that came out between, say, 1955 and 1966 was considered too sweet for more “modern” tastes. Even The Beatles seemed like two different bands to me then—the cute mopheads who sang “She Loves You” and the post-Sgt. Pepper group that my grandpa called “long-haired hippies.” This album showed me that the early incarnation had just as much substance as the late one—arguably, more.
5. My Aim Is True, Elvis Costello
This was the first album I bought with my own money. I was 12. I’d seen Costello on Saturday Night Live and read a glowing review of this album in Hit Parader, so I knew I had to get it. It introduced me to a wonderful world of music that I wasn’t about to hear on Top 40 radio—and a lot more than music, but more about that later.
6. Let There Be Rock, AC/DC
I could have picked any Bon Scott-era AC/DC album, but I chose this one because I gained the nickname “Angus” in high school for playing the opening riff to “Whole Lotta Rosie” on the piano when I entered the band room. The name stuck with me well into college. Musically, it was heaven for a 15-year-old boy—three chords, basement sound, and lyrics full of unsubtle sexual metaphor. But it showed me that rock, above all else, should be fun.
7. John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, John Lennon
I first heard this album not long after Lennon died, and I still feel its impact. Here was a Beatle—a fucking Beatle!—going through the same kind of pain I went through in adolescence. From his unstable childhood to the Beatles’ breakup, it’s all right here. Sort of like a celebrity reality TV show, except it’s real.
8. The Doors
Like most public school educated 16-year-olds, I couldn’t tell the difference between stoned gibberish and real poetry. I thought Jim Morrison was a poet, and it wasn’t long before I thought I was one, too. Thanks a lot, Jim. But Ray Manzarek’s mesmerizing keyboards and the album’s overall spooky vibe keep me coming back to this day.
9. The Best of the Manhattan Transfer, The Manhattan Transfer
A college roommate had this cassette. It always brought me peace when I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown—which was about three times a week. Their a capella version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” still sends a chill up my spine. This record taught me that rock ‘n roll’s not the only music that can save your soul.
10. Shadowland, k.d. lang
lang was the first artist I discovered completely on my own, without the recommendation of a friend or music critic. I first saw her on the Tonight Show, singing “Tears Don’t Care Who Cries Them.” I thought, “Well, she’s weird looking, but damn!—what a voice!” And the rest of this CD is just as stellar.
11. My Favorite Things, John Coltrane
I bought this around 1990 or so, but it would be years before its impact would become apparent. It was the first jazz CD I owned, and it was an anomaly in my collection for years (in my traveling CD case, it’s on the same page with Nirvana and the Sex Pistols). But it presaged a time when rock would no longer be my basic unit of musical currency.
12. The Velvet Underground and Nico
As clichéd as the word “mind-blowing” is, it fits here. Heroin, sado-masochism, you name it—Lou Reed can write a song about it without flinching. Rock has many poets, but Reed might have been its first journalist.
13. Nevermind, Nirvana
I had abandoned contemporary rock during the hair-band era in favor of country and ‘60s classic rock. Hair metal struck me as phony and formulaic, and I wondered if rock wasn’t finally dead after all. This CD brought me—and the world—back to rock ‘n roll.
14. BloodSugarSexMagik, Red Hot Chili Peppers
I think this was the first CD I bought that bore a Parental Advisory sticker. Between its f-bombs and its hot mix of punk and funk, it was a great introduction to the freewheeling aesthetic of ‘90s alternative-rock culture.
15. When I Was Cruel, Elvis Costello
While it was Costello’s best record in years, it changed my life for more personal reasons. I mentioned on a Yahoo! group that I was about to see Costello on his tour supporting this CD. This started an extended conversation with Jamie, the woman who would become my wife.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Marxism—or just common sense?
Anybody who thinks C-SPAN is boring has never listened to the phone calls on its morning show, “Washington Journal.” It’s become an outlet for extremists on both ends of the political spectrum whose computers haven’t warmed up yet.
There’s just something about actually hearing crackpots’ voices that makes them even sillier than reading their blather in print. I’ll never forget the time I came into the show in mid-tirade and heard the following conclusion:
“It’s time for us right-wingers to forget about the ballot box and start thinking about the bullet box.” Charming, eh?
The other day, the topic was the proposed limits on executive salaries for those companies that are being bailed out by the U.S. Government. A proposal by President Obama would limit their salaries to $500,000 a year. The horror.
One caller vehemently opposed this idea, calling it “Marxism.”
I’ll bet you even money that caller has never read The Communist Manifesto, and learned everything about Marxism from Rush Limbaugh.
I certainly learned a thing or two about Marxism just from its Wikipedia entry. I had no idea there were so many different schools of Marxist thought. If it interests you, feel free to read the entry. For these purposes, I think the overview will suffice. It says that most forms of Marxism share these principles:
• an attention to the material conditions of people's lives and social relations among people
• a belief that people's consciousness of the conditions of their lives reflects these material conditions and relations
• an understanding of class in terms of differing relations of production and as a particular position within such relations
• an understanding of material conditions and social relations as historically malleable
• a view of history according to which class struggle, the evolving conflict between classes with opposing interests, structures each historical period and drives historical change
• a sympathy for the working class or proletariat
• and a belief that the ultimate interests of workers best match those of humanity in general
What does any of that have to do with asking for some accountability from some fat cats who are begging for corporate welfare? Would Marx have approved of taking money from the working class and giving it to capitalists? If anything, the bailout is as anti-Marxist as it gets. Measures such as a salary cap just give the bailout the same sort of checks and balances that is the basis for the U.S. Government.
I assume that those crying “Marxism” are not corporate executives, because they would be too busy to be jamming the lines at C-SPAN. Would they feel better if the corporations were just written a blank check?
I think we’d be better off if America were more Groucho-Marxist. But that’s a theory of another color.
There’s just something about actually hearing crackpots’ voices that makes them even sillier than reading their blather in print. I’ll never forget the time I came into the show in mid-tirade and heard the following conclusion:
“It’s time for us right-wingers to forget about the ballot box and start thinking about the bullet box.” Charming, eh?
The other day, the topic was the proposed limits on executive salaries for those companies that are being bailed out by the U.S. Government. A proposal by President Obama would limit their salaries to $500,000 a year. The horror.
One caller vehemently opposed this idea, calling it “Marxism.”
I’ll bet you even money that caller has never read The Communist Manifesto, and learned everything about Marxism from Rush Limbaugh.
I certainly learned a thing or two about Marxism just from its Wikipedia entry. I had no idea there were so many different schools of Marxist thought. If it interests you, feel free to read the entry. For these purposes, I think the overview will suffice. It says that most forms of Marxism share these principles:
• an attention to the material conditions of people's lives and social relations among people
• a belief that people's consciousness of the conditions of their lives reflects these material conditions and relations
• an understanding of class in terms of differing relations of production and as a particular position within such relations
• an understanding of material conditions and social relations as historically malleable
• a view of history according to which class struggle, the evolving conflict between classes with opposing interests, structures each historical period and drives historical change
• a sympathy for the working class or proletariat
• and a belief that the ultimate interests of workers best match those of humanity in general
What does any of that have to do with asking for some accountability from some fat cats who are begging for corporate welfare? Would Marx have approved of taking money from the working class and giving it to capitalists? If anything, the bailout is as anti-Marxist as it gets. Measures such as a salary cap just give the bailout the same sort of checks and balances that is the basis for the U.S. Government.
I assume that those crying “Marxism” are not corporate executives, because they would be too busy to be jamming the lines at C-SPAN. Would they feel better if the corporations were just written a blank check?
I think we’d be better off if America were more Groucho-Marxist. But that’s a theory of another color.
Friday, January 30, 2009
And in the end...
Somebody at Jamsbio.com named JBev has a lot more time on his hands than I do.
He actually rated all 185 original compositions performed by The Beatles as a group and posted them on the site, with an explanation for each that goes far beyond “cool” or “sucks.”
The list stretches for 20 web pages, and will be excruciating reading for many (although it doesn’t seem half as long as watching the movie Across The Universe), but a delight for some Beatles fans. If you don’t really care about the nuances of “Tell Me Why” or “The Night Before,” you may want to skip to the summary on the last page.
I dug it, of course.
As with all such lists, there are bound to be arguments. Perhaps the least controversial entry is the first—“Revolution 9” at number 185. As groundbreaking as John Lennon thought it was, it just didn’t work (although I still prefer it to Celine Dion’s best song).
My first “Aw, come on!’ moment came a stride out of the gate with “Honey Pie” at number 184. Maybe it’s because I used to dance around the house with a cane and an old sport coat singing the song when I was seven. But it’s not a bad song. Among Paul’s “granny” songs, I would rank it behind “When I’m Sixty-Four” and in front of “Your Mother Should Know.”
That’s one problem with the list. Maybe I’m a blind fan, but I submit that The Beatles never made a bad song. (Their solo efforts don’t count for these purposes. Neither does Yoko.) Some were just more significant than others. JBev is more attuned to the Fab Four’s subtleties, as those songs near the bottom represent some of their extremes—the most upbeat (“Good Day Sunshine”) and downbeat (“Yer Blues”) songs in their catalog, as well as their attempts to be headbangers (“I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”) and lounge lizards (“Ask Me Why”).
There are arguments along the way, as there are bound to be. Not much love for “Day Tripper” or “Julia,” way too much for “I Am The Walrus” (number two?) and “Dear Prudence” (the highest-rated White Album track at number 11?), and cheers for the lofty placement of some underrated gems such as “Yes It Is” or "If I Fell."
After showing so much guts along the way, JBev gives us the most predictable number one—“A Day in the Life.” It’s certainly a pop music landmark, and it’s the correct left-brained choice, but is it the song that any Beatles fan really enjoys the most?
Two more interesting possibilities for the top spot came in at numbers four and five. Number four is “Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End” (rated as one song here). The Beatles had done everything thought possible in pop music, and more, and they couldn’t have gone out more eloquently than they did on that Abbey Road medley. Number five is “Hey Jude”—their biggest hit and certainly one of the most uplifting songs ever, ending with the best vamp (no, not the kind Cher used to sing about on her TV show) in pop music history.
There are other reasons to pick a favorite. “Something”—number nine on the list—has gained a special place in my heart in recent years. My wife and I danced to it on the weekend we met, and it was the first song we danced to at our wedding. It seems heretical to put a George Harrison song at the top of the list, but it now has a spot that goes beyond any list.
The ‘60s are over, and new generations have held The Beatles’ music up to a scrutiny that wasn’t possible during the full fervor of Beatlemania. The band’s legacy has proven that the music is strong enough to withstand that scrutiny.
P.S. You might also want to check out the comments at the bottom of the page. As I write this, the last comment appears to be from Julian Lennon.
He actually rated all 185 original compositions performed by The Beatles as a group and posted them on the site, with an explanation for each that goes far beyond “cool” or “sucks.”
The list stretches for 20 web pages, and will be excruciating reading for many (although it doesn’t seem half as long as watching the movie Across The Universe), but a delight for some Beatles fans. If you don’t really care about the nuances of “Tell Me Why” or “The Night Before,” you may want to skip to the summary on the last page.
I dug it, of course.
As with all such lists, there are bound to be arguments. Perhaps the least controversial entry is the first—“Revolution 9” at number 185. As groundbreaking as John Lennon thought it was, it just didn’t work (although I still prefer it to Celine Dion’s best song).
My first “Aw, come on!’ moment came a stride out of the gate with “Honey Pie” at number 184. Maybe it’s because I used to dance around the house with a cane and an old sport coat singing the song when I was seven. But it’s not a bad song. Among Paul’s “granny” songs, I would rank it behind “When I’m Sixty-Four” and in front of “Your Mother Should Know.”
That’s one problem with the list. Maybe I’m a blind fan, but I submit that The Beatles never made a bad song. (Their solo efforts don’t count for these purposes. Neither does Yoko.) Some were just more significant than others. JBev is more attuned to the Fab Four’s subtleties, as those songs near the bottom represent some of their extremes—the most upbeat (“Good Day Sunshine”) and downbeat (“Yer Blues”) songs in their catalog, as well as their attempts to be headbangers (“I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”) and lounge lizards (“Ask Me Why”).
There are arguments along the way, as there are bound to be. Not much love for “Day Tripper” or “Julia,” way too much for “I Am The Walrus” (number two?) and “Dear Prudence” (the highest-rated White Album track at number 11?), and cheers for the lofty placement of some underrated gems such as “Yes It Is” or "If I Fell."
After showing so much guts along the way, JBev gives us the most predictable number one—“A Day in the Life.” It’s certainly a pop music landmark, and it’s the correct left-brained choice, but is it the song that any Beatles fan really enjoys the most?
Two more interesting possibilities for the top spot came in at numbers four and five. Number four is “Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End” (rated as one song here). The Beatles had done everything thought possible in pop music, and more, and they couldn’t have gone out more eloquently than they did on that Abbey Road medley. Number five is “Hey Jude”—their biggest hit and certainly one of the most uplifting songs ever, ending with the best vamp (no, not the kind Cher used to sing about on her TV show) in pop music history.
There are other reasons to pick a favorite. “Something”—number nine on the list—has gained a special place in my heart in recent years. My wife and I danced to it on the weekend we met, and it was the first song we danced to at our wedding. It seems heretical to put a George Harrison song at the top of the list, but it now has a spot that goes beyond any list.
The ‘60s are over, and new generations have held The Beatles’ music up to a scrutiny that wasn’t possible during the full fervor of Beatlemania. The band’s legacy has proven that the music is strong enough to withstand that scrutiny.
P.S. You might also want to check out the comments at the bottom of the page. As I write this, the last comment appears to be from Julian Lennon.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Dementions and dementites...
Imagine getting the chance to meet Michael Jordan, Paul McCartney, or someone else who was your hero when you were young.
The Flying Spaghetti Monster willing, I will get that opportunity in July.
It started a few months ago when plans were being made for the 2009 Annual Gathering of American Mensa, which will be held in Pittsburgh 4th of July weekend. The theme is “AM-FM, About Mensans, For Mensans.” Since the AG is the year’s biggest Mensa event, there’s a dinner with a keynote speaker. I started thinking about the theme, and one speaker leaped out at me, so I made the suggestion to the AG speaker chair, Brea Ludwigson.
Earlier this week, I learned that the plans are on.
Dr. Demento is coming to the 2009 AG.
It’s more than an honor to finally meet the man who provided the soundtrack for my Wonder Years.
Thanks to someone desperately in need of a life, I can pinpoint the night—actually, the moment—when I first heard The Dr. Demento Show.
I was 12 at the time, and my tastes in music—and just about everything else—were starting to set me apart from my peers. I already preferred The Beatles to The Bee Gees, Chicago to Boston, and Al Stewart to Rod Stewart (although I should note that, at the time, Rod was slogging through dreck like “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?”). I watched every British comedy that Channel 34 showed (we all know about Monty Python, but how many Americans remember “Dave Allen at Large”? Or “No, Honestly”?). And I actually—gasp!—read for fun. And I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t have a date for the eighth grade dinner dance?
So, one night (apparently, Oct. 22, 1978), I was flipping through the FM stations trying to find a rabbit hole to crawl in before I went to sleep and came across Q-FM-96, which, like most album-rock stations in the late ‘70s, played “Stairway to Heaven” and “Free Bird” on a continuous loop. I was not expecting to hear Cheech and Chong singing the theme from Up in Smoke. This was followed by “There’s a New Sound”—which was “the sound that’s made by worms.” Don’t ask.
Within weeks, Dr. Demento had replaced "American Top 40" as my required Sunday radio listening. Not only was I taping the show to play during the week, I was writing the lyrics to Funny 5 favorites in a notebook. There was “Fish Heads,” “Dead Puppies,” “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” and the demented oeuvres of Allan Sherman, Tom Lehrer, Shel Silverstein, and, of course, Frank Zappa.
It wasn’t all songs about dead dogs and seafood detritus, though. Some of the show’s best parts came when Dr. D got deep into music history. He could go on about what ASCAP and BMI were and how they came to be, or how “Yes! We Have No Bananas” became a big hit in the 1920s. I was just as likely to hear Al Jolson on the show as Weird Al Yankovic.
It was during these years that Weird Al first gained airplay with “My Bologna” on his way to mainstream fame. He was interviewed “under the smogberry trees,” as were Zappa and demented music makers ranging from Lenny and Squiggy to Barnes and Barnes. While a Funny 5 favorite occasionally received mainstream airplay, nobody else that I knew really cared about this music. It was, as far as I knew, my own, private musical world. And, apparently, it was, as the Q stopped carrying the show in 1982 due to low ratings (although it has resurfaced on that station on Sunday mornings).
It was not until I started going to RGs regularly in my 30s that I learned that I was, indeed, not alone. There are many people in Mensa who are, to paraphrase The great Luke Ski, true “D” fans—who own every Weird Al CD, once drove three hours to see DaVinci’s Notebook, and can recite “Earache My Eye” from memory (not just the song, but the father-son tirade as well).
And so it was, when I found out that the AG would have a radio theme, I could think of only one choice for a keynote speaker.
As Wayne and Garth would have said, WE’RE NOT WORTHY!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
It really is the economy, stupid
I saw Roger and Me last night, best known as the film that made Michael Moore the left-wing icon he is today. While some things about the film haven’t aged well—the hairdos are hilarious—the theme is no less relevant today.
As the film begins, Moore shows us home movies of his childhood in Flint, Mich., when General Motors was king. His dad worked for GM, and the images of dancing spark plugs and Pat Boone crooning for Chevy paint a picture of the American Dream.
Fast forward to the ‘80s as GM closes 11 auto plants across the country in favor of the sunny climes and slave wages of Mexico, even though GM was making record profits. Flint, a one-industry town, is devastated.
The film documents Flint’s descent into poverty as celebrities visit to give empty motivational speeches, local PR wonks make lame attempts to wrap shit in a pretty package, and Moore makes repeated attempts to interview GM CEO Roger Smith.
The first time I heard Smith’s name was in college (roughly about the time that Roger and Me was taking place). I had an economics class with Young Koo, a Korean professor who talked about “suppry and demand.” Lee Iacocca’s name was a household word at the time, but Koo pointed out that he wasn’t the highest paid auto executive. Who was? Roger Smith.
How strange that I saw Smith as a hero back then instead of the real-life Mr. Burns that this film reveals him to be.
Roger and Me shows the human toll behind the headlines. We follow a deputy sheriff evicting people in the most civil way he can. We hear from a man who had a panic attack on the way home from the plant after learning he lost his job. In the film’s most controversial scene, we see a woman killing and skinning a rabbit to help pay the rent (of course, more people made a fuss about a rabbit than the 30,000 people laid off). We see a parade (it literally is a parade at one point) of Middle American icons—Miss America, Pat Boone, Anita Bryant, Robert Schuller—offering uplifting, but empty, words of encouragement. But the most stunning images are the journeys through block after block of abandoned houses and businesses in Flint. Add “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” to the list of songs I’ll never think of in the same way again.
Economics was a bit of a bore for me in college. It was one of those classes that I took because I heard it would help me get a job, even though I would rather have been reading Shakespeare. And it was pretty dull, but it didn’t have to be.
For behind all the dry statistics (I’m still trying to figure out just what the kinked demand curve was supposed to represent), there are people. Since Roger and Me came out, we’ve had the dot-com boom, the dot-com bust, housing foreclosures, corporate bankruptcies, scandals, you name it. And behind each economic shift, people are affected.
Economics is more than just a boring subject in school. In a big way, it is life.
As the film begins, Moore shows us home movies of his childhood in Flint, Mich., when General Motors was king. His dad worked for GM, and the images of dancing spark plugs and Pat Boone crooning for Chevy paint a picture of the American Dream.
Fast forward to the ‘80s as GM closes 11 auto plants across the country in favor of the sunny climes and slave wages of Mexico, even though GM was making record profits. Flint, a one-industry town, is devastated.
The film documents Flint’s descent into poverty as celebrities visit to give empty motivational speeches, local PR wonks make lame attempts to wrap shit in a pretty package, and Moore makes repeated attempts to interview GM CEO Roger Smith.
The first time I heard Smith’s name was in college (roughly about the time that Roger and Me was taking place). I had an economics class with Young Koo, a Korean professor who talked about “suppry and demand.” Lee Iacocca’s name was a household word at the time, but Koo pointed out that he wasn’t the highest paid auto executive. Who was? Roger Smith.
How strange that I saw Smith as a hero back then instead of the real-life Mr. Burns that this film reveals him to be.
Roger and Me shows the human toll behind the headlines. We follow a deputy sheriff evicting people in the most civil way he can. We hear from a man who had a panic attack on the way home from the plant after learning he lost his job. In the film’s most controversial scene, we see a woman killing and skinning a rabbit to help pay the rent (of course, more people made a fuss about a rabbit than the 30,000 people laid off). We see a parade (it literally is a parade at one point) of Middle American icons—Miss America, Pat Boone, Anita Bryant, Robert Schuller—offering uplifting, but empty, words of encouragement. But the most stunning images are the journeys through block after block of abandoned houses and businesses in Flint. Add “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” to the list of songs I’ll never think of in the same way again.
Economics was a bit of a bore for me in college. It was one of those classes that I took because I heard it would help me get a job, even though I would rather have been reading Shakespeare. And it was pretty dull, but it didn’t have to be.
For behind all the dry statistics (I’m still trying to figure out just what the kinked demand curve was supposed to represent), there are people. Since Roger and Me came out, we’ve had the dot-com boom, the dot-com bust, housing foreclosures, corporate bankruptcies, scandals, you name it. And behind each economic shift, people are affected.
Economics is more than just a boring subject in school. In a big way, it is life.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
43
It's Troy Polamalu's number. It's Darren Sproles' number, and he had a pretty good game last night. It was Richard Petty's number, and NASCAR fans still call him "The King." Channel 43 in Cleveland showed a lot of old TV shows on cable when I was little. And as of today, it's my age.
Birthdays don't mean much as you get older. You can get into R-rated movies at 17, you can vote at 18, you can drink at 21--but what does being 43 enable you to do? Not much.
People make a big deal out of turning 30. It seems to symbolize that a big part of your life is now over, that life is no fun anymore. I don't know why our culture is so geared toward youth. I remember a song by Blink 182 a few years ago which contained the line "Nobody loves you when you're 23." Twenty-three is over the hill. Incredible. What are we--a bunch of Neanderthals who don't live past 30?
I think the main reason that youth is jammed down our throats 24/7 by the media is because young people have a lot of money to blow on crap. People my age don't have the disposable income to blow on clothes, CDs and the latest electronic doo-dad. But once you've got adult responsibilities and Madison Avenue can't wheedle any more money out of you, well, then you suck.
It's the age-old question: would you do it all over if you could? I think there's a lot of psychodrama that comes with being a young adult that I would not want to relive, but I often think of all the opportunities I had that I didn't take advantage of.
So, in a way, 43 is fine. But then I start thinking about the future. I reached the point a few years ago where cemeteries started to creep me out. Then early last year, I had this really bad freakout at the prospect of not existing someday. I still hate the idea of death. It is so...out of your control. The idea of total powerlessness--who can stand that? Not many people, which is why religion is so popular, and why churches are filled with people over 60.
And it begs the question of why most of us are here. To work some meaningless job and have a little fun--what's the point? When you're gone, has your life impacted anything or anybody in any significant way?
And on that cheery note, I will let you go back to the viral video or reality show of your choice.
Birthdays don't mean much as you get older. You can get into R-rated movies at 17, you can vote at 18, you can drink at 21--but what does being 43 enable you to do? Not much.
People make a big deal out of turning 30. It seems to symbolize that a big part of your life is now over, that life is no fun anymore. I don't know why our culture is so geared toward youth. I remember a song by Blink 182 a few years ago which contained the line "Nobody loves you when you're 23." Twenty-three is over the hill. Incredible. What are we--a bunch of Neanderthals who don't live past 30?
I think the main reason that youth is jammed down our throats 24/7 by the media is because young people have a lot of money to blow on crap. People my age don't have the disposable income to blow on clothes, CDs and the latest electronic doo-dad. But once you've got adult responsibilities and Madison Avenue can't wheedle any more money out of you, well, then you suck.
It's the age-old question: would you do it all over if you could? I think there's a lot of psychodrama that comes with being a young adult that I would not want to relive, but I often think of all the opportunities I had that I didn't take advantage of.
So, in a way, 43 is fine. But then I start thinking about the future. I reached the point a few years ago where cemeteries started to creep me out. Then early last year, I had this really bad freakout at the prospect of not existing someday. I still hate the idea of death. It is so...out of your control. The idea of total powerlessness--who can stand that? Not many people, which is why religion is so popular, and why churches are filled with people over 60.
And it begs the question of why most of us are here. To work some meaningless job and have a little fun--what's the point? When you're gone, has your life impacted anything or anybody in any significant way?
And on that cheery note, I will let you go back to the viral video or reality show of your choice.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
So long to an awful year (mostly)
2008 has been one of the worst years of my life, and a pretty bad one for a lot of other people.
It started out poorly on Jan. 17 when my wife broke her leg. Then came six operations, several weeks in the hospital and a few more in rehab. There was the clerical error that meant that my wife didn’t get paid for two months. Then my father was in the hospital for a few days.
Things weren’t much better for the rest of the world. The world’s general economic condition knocked my prospects for a better job from slim to none. Many are mad at Madoff for the Biggest. Ponzi. Scheme. Ever, while the Big Three American automakers have proven to be as reliable as a ’75 Pinto.
Music continues to get worse, or maybe I'm just getting older. While American Top 40 and other teeny-bopper shows have year-end lists of the biggest hits, I have been reduced to nominating one song a year as This Year's Only Good Song. The winner this year is....Coldplay's "Viva La Vida."
I do have an award for Mondegreen of the Year. Apparently, this is one that was misheard by a lot of people, because Ryan Seacrest actually interviewed The Pussycat Dolls on American Top 40 in order to debunk the mondegreen. (Oh, the crap you stumble into on the radio during long road trips!) So here it is...
WRONG: I wanna have boobies
RIGHT: I wanna have groupies
"When I Grow Up," The Pussycat Dolls
Still don’t think it was a bad year? Did I mention that two of the most critically acclaimed films of the year are a Batman flick and a Pixar movie about a trash compactor? I thought that would shut you up.
It wasn’t all bad. It was a year where a lot of chickens came home to roost. The Spygate Patriots blew their perfect season at the hands of the GEEEEE-MEN (thank you, Chris Berman) in Super Bowl XLII, while the backstretch’s biggest mouth, Rick Dutrow, was suddenly lost for words when Big Brown finished last in the Belmont.
But the biggest comeuppance was saved for George W. Bush and the Republican Party in general, as the American public finally grew some brains and elected Barack Obama over faux maverick John McCain. It’s beyond the scope of this blog to list the many levels on which this election represents change—the country’s attitude toward race and the power of the youth electorate are the most obvious. But the most important trend may be a new-found tendency to respect the mind and leaders who think.
So this year could be likened to the opening of Pandora’s Box. All the ills, evils and diseases came out of the box—but at the end, there was hope.
Hey, the Steelers made the playoffs…
It started out poorly on Jan. 17 when my wife broke her leg. Then came six operations, several weeks in the hospital and a few more in rehab. There was the clerical error that meant that my wife didn’t get paid for two months. Then my father was in the hospital for a few days.
Things weren’t much better for the rest of the world. The world’s general economic condition knocked my prospects for a better job from slim to none. Many are mad at Madoff for the Biggest. Ponzi. Scheme. Ever, while the Big Three American automakers have proven to be as reliable as a ’75 Pinto.
Music continues to get worse, or maybe I'm just getting older. While American Top 40 and other teeny-bopper shows have year-end lists of the biggest hits, I have been reduced to nominating one song a year as This Year's Only Good Song. The winner this year is....Coldplay's "Viva La Vida."
I do have an award for Mondegreen of the Year. Apparently, this is one that was misheard by a lot of people, because Ryan Seacrest actually interviewed The Pussycat Dolls on American Top 40 in order to debunk the mondegreen. (Oh, the crap you stumble into on the radio during long road trips!) So here it is...
WRONG: I wanna have boobies
RIGHT: I wanna have groupies
"When I Grow Up," The Pussycat Dolls
Still don’t think it was a bad year? Did I mention that two of the most critically acclaimed films of the year are a Batman flick and a Pixar movie about a trash compactor? I thought that would shut you up.
It wasn’t all bad. It was a year where a lot of chickens came home to roost. The Spygate Patriots blew their perfect season at the hands of the GEEEEE-MEN (thank you, Chris Berman) in Super Bowl XLII, while the backstretch’s biggest mouth, Rick Dutrow, was suddenly lost for words when Big Brown finished last in the Belmont.
But the biggest comeuppance was saved for George W. Bush and the Republican Party in general, as the American public finally grew some brains and elected Barack Obama over faux maverick John McCain. It’s beyond the scope of this blog to list the many levels on which this election represents change—the country’s attitude toward race and the power of the youth electorate are the most obvious. But the most important trend may be a new-found tendency to respect the mind and leaders who think.
So this year could be likened to the opening of Pandora’s Box. All the ills, evils and diseases came out of the box—but at the end, there was hope.
Hey, the Steelers made the playoffs…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)