The 10 Most Delicious Albums of 2010

When I had the idea to do this post back in June, I was worried that it would turn into "The Ten Albums that I At Least Kinda Liked This Year."  Fortunately for the world of music and unfortunately for my sanity, there ended up being a hefty load of albums to consider.  Of course, this means that I had to keep on top of contemporary music, which was, well, not exactly my forte.  This year, there was no tour-de-force album like Light Grenades, no Good Apollo, no De-Loused in the Comatorium, no Ten, no Systematic Chaos, no Who Are We Living For? no By The Way, or even a Stadium Arcadium.  I don't think there was even an In Absentia.  But we got some good releases this year, so we can at leas celebrate that.


Before we begin, I would like to give a bit of a disclaimer.  First of all, even though these albums are ranked in a hierarchy, that doesn't necessarily mean that one is "better" than the albums below it, or that there is really any objective and quantifiable way to measure how good or bad an album is.  These are my picks for the purposes of this post.  But please, controversy is appreciated.  And of course, I am no authority on the matter.  My taste shouldn't dictate or even influence your taste.


All right, well here we go...

10) Ted Leo and the Pharmacists - The Brutalist Bricks


This came as a surprise, as I really didn't think this album would be making it into the top ten.  But here it is.  It's not deep, it's not complex, but I'll be dipped in molasses and called Shirley (what?) if this album doesn't make you jump around.  And nothing but a cocktail of endorphins and dissolved ecstasy injected directly into your brain stem will elevate your mood more than the song "Bottled in Cork."










9) Mutiny Within - Mutiny Within


This album made me fall in love with screaming all over again.  My hair also grew three inches during my first listen through this album, my clothes turned black, and I found myself fighting a midget at four in the morning on the Sunset Strip.  They remind me of Avenged before M. Shadows vocal chords self destructed, augmented with the melodic sensibilities of Dream Theater.  Since this is their debut album, they also get the nod as newcomers of the year.









8) Jason Moran - Ten


Who said piano jazz wasn't cool.  Ok, this album won't exactly become the anthem for today's youth, and listeners who aren't familiar with the genre probably won't get many thrills out of this album.  But the musicianship of Moran's trio, the Bandwagon, is exceptional, honed over their ten years of playing together.  Moran's sound can shift from slow, stripped-down bluesy to McCoy Tyner-esque franticness in an instant.  Definitely an album worth checking out for anyone who gives a flying fuck in the direction of jazz.









7) Bettye LaVette - Interpretations: The British Rock Songbook


R&B singer Betty LaVette created what may be the most interesting album of the year: covers of British Invasion songs in her own unique style.  In my opinion, this is exactly what covers should be.  Rather than simply re-creating a song, a cover should be a re-interpretation of the song, and cast it in an entirely new light. LaVette does this on every track in this album, covering songs by the likes of Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Beatles, The Animals, and Pink Floyd, among others.  The album was inspired when LaVette performed a cover of "Love, Reign O'er Me" at the Kennedy Center Honors, a performance which was considered by many to be the highlight of the event.  Two years later, this masterpiece emerged.  The best part: her signature soulful moaning on an incredibly sexy and strutting rendition of "All of my Love."









6) Gogol Bordello - Trans-Continental Hustle


In a way, this album by gypsy-punk outfit Gogol Bordello is the soundtrack to globalization, combining eastern European musical traditions with frantic, uptempo, and sometimes angry, good-ole-fashioned punk rock.  This album delivers a heavy dose of mayhem and madness, perfect for everything from fist pumping to lining up a row of grain alcohol shots.  And while I'm not necessarily sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing, it kind of makes me want to charge, head first, at full-tilt, into a brick wall, because I'm sure I could break through.  









5) Mavis Staples - You Are Not Alone


Mavis Staples praises Jesus for salvation, and I praise Jesus for Mavis Staples.  Improbably produced by Wilco's Jeff Tweedy, this album takes the most famous Staples Sister (don't deny it) to a whole new dimension.  Whether it's the uptempo gospel tracks or the Wilco-infused ballads, this album is guaranteed to cause an entirely healthy euphoria.*


*This statement has not been certified by the Surgeon General.








4) Coheed and Cambria - Year of the Black Rainbow

This album kind of sounds like what would happen if one of the most iconic alternative rock bands of the 00's picked up the drummer from the Dellinger Escape Plan and then had Atticus Ross produce their new album.  Oh wait, that is what happened.  While the outcome isn't as great as the masterpieces of In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth and Good Apollo I'm Burning Star IV, this is a solid album of solid rocking, something that was conspicuously hard to find this year.  Completing the band's five-part story arc of concept albums, this album fills in the first chapter.  It follows the same general structure as the band's other albums, starting with a quiet instrumental track, segueing into the anthem, then a smattering of vocal hooks and guitar assaults with a power ballad or two thrown in for good measure, and then concluding with a long and brooding song.  But it's a structure that works.  I noted in another post that Coheed is a Passover Sedar, which I guess would make the band's first four albums Exodus.  If so, then this album is a kind of Genesis, an epic of creation, flaws, failure, and then dealing with the consequences.  It's kind of like getting hit over the head with a pillar of salt.













3) Bill Frisell - Beautiful Dreamers


On his umpteenth album, Jazz/Folk/Americana guitarist Bill Frisell teams up with drummer Rudy Royston and Violist Eyvind Kang and expands the sound that he has been pioneering over his decades-long career: a richly textured blend of spacey post-bop and American folk music.  And while the mood ranges from upbeat, on tracks like "Better than a Machine," to melancholy, on tracks like "No Time to Cry," the album feels like one piece of through composed music, the breaks between tracks being only pauses between movements.  If this album were a food, it would probably be a chicken fried cocktail olive - classy yet folksy.

2) The Gaslight Anthem - American Slang


New Jersey punk rockers The Gaslight Anthem have produced another album of, driving riffs, gritty vocals, and Jersey angst.  It's softer, and, yes, not quite as punky as their previous albums, but it is by no means any less intense.  And whatever it loses in it's punkliness it gains in soulfulness.  This is music for nostalgia, for regret, for bitterness, for dreamers, and for the hopeless romantics.











1) Pete Francis - The Movie we are In


No, unlike everyone else, I did not pick Kanye for the top album of 2010.  In fact, I picked an album that most people won't even be considering for their top x albums of the year, let alone #1.  So I guess I had better explain myself.


Pete Francis is much better known as being a member of Dispatch.  When they broke up and pursued their respective solo acts, it seemed as though they devolved into two dime-a-dozen singer-songwriters and a politically minded wanna-be Jamaican.  Of course, each of the three respective acts - Pete Francis, Braddigan, and State Radio - all ended up coming into their own, but without the same kind of fandom, and, of course, the synergy.  I've stated that State Radio is Dispatch without the fun, and that Braddigan is Dispatch without the attitude.  This album takes a lot of what I love about Dispatch (but of course far from all of it) and gives it a gritty reboot: Francis' singer-songwriter style is augmented with electronic drum beats and synthesizer tracks.  And even though it is a contemporary singer-songwriter writing for contemporary electronic instrumentation, parts of the album seem to be channeling Tom Petty, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, and Revolver-era Beatles.

This also gets the nod for the best album cover of the year, because it depicts what most of us did: pay out the nose to wear silly little glasses that were supposed to make us think a terrible movie were better.









Albums on the Bubble


Portugal. The Man - American Ghetto
Soulive - Rubber Soulive
Ali Farka Toure & Toumani Diabate - Ali & Toumani
Brad Mehldau - Highway Rider
Taking Dawn - Time to Burn
Broken Bells - Broken Bells
Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings - I Learned the Hard Way
The Young Veins - Take a Vacation!
Thomas Mapfumo & the Blacks Unlimited - Exile
Cee-Lo Green - The Lady Killer
Against Me! - White Crosses
Eels - End Times
The Disco Biscuits - Planet Anthem


Biggest Disappointment: A Tie Between The Black Keys' Brothers and MGMT's Congradulations


Also check out the somewhat posthumous release by Jimi Hendrix, entitled Valleys of Neptune.  Unfortunately, due to its posthumous status, it could not even be put in consideration.




And that, ladies and gents, was what was in 2010.

Four Films That You Didn't Know Were Remakes

1)    1)  Air Force One

Believe it or not, this film’s original incarnation was a 23 minute silent film from 1922.  In this film, the British Prime Minister is flying to London from a historic League of Nations meeting in Geneva where the fictional Mediterranean nation of Greblazia has been peacefully divided into protectorates of seventeen different League of Nations members.  Prime minster Wicklington is crossing the English Channel in a biplane, a flight which took upwards of four hours back then.  The plane has three seats, one for Wicklington, one for the pilot, and one which is supposedly empty.  As the plane leaves continental airspace, an assassin from Greblazia, complete with an olde-timey sinister handlebar mustache, pops out of the third seat’s compartment.  To thwart his assassin, Prime Minister Wicklington insists on confronting him in a duel atop the biplane’s upper wing, but not until they both engage in an inexplicable dance number.  (The music would be usually provided by an in-theater pipe organ.  The original score for this scene has, unfortunately, been lost to history.)  Wicklington uses his experience garnered in the Royal Dueling academy to defeat his assassin, the day is saved, and the once proud nation of Greblazia still doesn’t have its sovereignty or dignity.  But since the film was intended for a primarily British audience, this is seen as being a heroic and happy ending.  Another interesting fact is that Wicklington’s memories of the Royal Dueling Academy are the first known use of flashback in a film.

2)     2) The Matrix

While the 1999 version of the film depicted humans whose consciousnesses were trapped inside a computer, the original 1957 film depicted humans who were physically trapped inside a computer – the computer being an ENIAC machine the size of a city block.  This computer is supposedly the most powerful computer of its time, although now mp3 player could probably outwit an army of these things.  It is powered by humans riding stationary bikes and operating erg machines 24/7, who know nothing of the outside world.  When the building’s rogue janitor, Morpheus, frees the denizens of the computer, they are lead on chase, complete with cheesy special effects, by Officer Smith.  The escapees are finally saved when Neo accuses Officer Smith of being a communist.

3)     3) Toy Story

Toy Story actually takes the structure of its plot from a 1939 western/musical entitled “Outer Space Comes to Amarillo.”  Starring singing cowboy Gene Autrey as Woody and Humphrey Bogart as Buzz Lightyear, the film is about a space captain who inexplicably lands in Olde-Timey Amarillo and upsets the status quo, which the local sheriff tries to fix, but not without bursting into song every ten minutes.  The two resolve their differences when they are forced to team up to thwart a band of cattle rustlers.  Instead of Buzz Lightyear’s catchphrase being “To infinity, and beyond!” Bogart’s character frequently breaks out with “I’m need a drink!” 

4)   4)   Almost Famous

Cameron Crowe’s coming of age story was not, in fact, based on his own experiences as a teenager writing for Rolling Stone.  The story is actually adapted from a 1937 film which is itself adapted from a Horatio Alger novel about an industrious teenage orphan/journalist who is embedded with the Merry Negro Frolic Vaudeville Troupe, who perform in blackface, and are racist beyond anything we can imagine today.  The plot of the film and the novel, both of which are entitled “Almost Famous and then Famous, or, Industrious Johnny and the Minstrel Men,” revolves around Johnny Coppperbottom being sent on what is thought by his editor to be a wild goose chase: producing a story about a vaudeville troupe for this newfangled medium called “magazines.”  After resisting immoral (read: pre-marital) sexual advances, friendships with minorities, and the chance to blow his newly acquired fortune on strawberry phosphates at the drug store, good ole industrious Johnny surprises everyone by publishing a story and is awarded a job as editor and twenty seven dollars, which was a lot of money back then.  The scene in which Billy Cudrup’s character famously proclaims “I am a golden god” while tripping on acid is almost directly copied from the original scene, in which Silas Greenly, the leader of the minstrel troupe, stands at the helm of a Mississippi riverboat and claims “Hark, assembled revelers, it brings me the most satiating pleasure to proclaim to you before me that I have all the lustre and splendor of a debauched pagan idol!”  He then puts on blackface and performs an act where he tries and comically fails to rape a plantation owner’s wife.

The 3rd Millennium: Your Team's Best Player is a Robot

Here are three myths about sports that aren't true and one that is.

1) Sports are Fair


It isn't commercial timeouts or salary caps that ruined the NFL.  It's those video replays.  The referees practically  have to get Washington on the line and have all nine supreme court justices review the footage to validate what we all thought, yes, he was out of bounds when the catch was made, and now I've just spilled nacho cheez on my Jason Campbell jersey that I wear to SUPPORT MY TEAM, because it's GAME DAY!  (The exception is at Washington Redskins games, where the supreme court sits in a special box, along party lines, and uses their genetically-enhanced JusticeVision to call plays, because football is more important than politics.)  Then once the oracle has spoken, the most stoic of the referees must face the crowd and tell the message to the people, even the deaf people who can conveniently read his hand signals.  And he was definitely out of bounds and now Oakland is being charged with a delay of game and oh Christ wearing hoverboots this is so frustrating!  (cut to commercial - Ever thought about buying a Ford?  WELL YOU ARE NOW MOTHERFUCKER!)

I don't drive a Ford, but I'm still a man because I eat straight hops for breakfast. Fuck you advertising!

The rules change as the game changes to make the game stay the same.  Probably the best example is baseball, where they keep having to raise the mound as pitchers get better and better.  Otherwise it would eventually turn into a very fast-paced game of catch.  Their only audience would be seven other guys awkwardly standing in the general vicinity, kind of like what a weekday A's game looks like when there's no Lunch Money Monday or whatever kind of giveaway type thing they're doing right now.

Then you have regulations off the field (or court or rink or track or pitch or bucking bronco) that control even more aspects of the game.  Players have salary caps, a franchise can't spend more than x dollars on salaries within a decade.  We NCAA athletes have to be eligible and not getting any of the money that they're generating, or at least are supposed to be but we all know it's bullshit, and SEC football players not only get pay-for play arrangements, they also have a designated Asian to go to class for them and have stock options. (But all I get is a pair of shoes, if Nike doesn't forget to send them, which they do.)

The players, too, are regulated in a way that makes everything on the field of play appear "fair."  (No, and not in a Philip Sidney sonnet way where the lady appears fair and you piss tea and bleed iambic pentameter.)  It has to seem fair so that discrepancies in the quality of play by the two involved teams will be the only determining factor in who wins the game and who gets berated by the coach in the locker room for an hour about the heart of a champion.

But if games we really fair, we would all need the the same exact genome, the same exact parents, early childhood environment, diet, personalities, education, training, and probably all be taking the same steroids.  Because sports isn't really fair at all, because some people are drastically more talented, some people have almost infinitely more resources than others.  Some people have joints that go pop, some have tendons that just can't hold up under the stress of repeatedly getting smashed into by another elephant-sized lineman or throwing a 100 mph fastball.  Some people are straight up pussies and some can take hits all day.  And we're all going to find a way to win, even if it does mean breaking the rules.

It's ok, life is also not fair.  Maybe with this revelation we can know that real life is more like sports than we once thought it to be.  And, it makes this second pill a little easier to swallow, which is that:

2) Sports are not about who is the best team


It is because of this fallacy that we let a robot help us decide a national champion, thus putting us into the preliminary stages of a robocratic government.  In fact, since BCS rankings get people to care more than any political issue ever has or ever will, you could say that we are already letting robots make the decisions that influence our lives the most.  The polls come out, everyone gets uppidy about Boise State and TCU, arguments break out, family dinner is ruined, fights go down behind the dumpster, there are riots, North Korea sends troops into the demilitarized zone and no one even notices over here in America because we're still pissed that Boise State is either, depending on your persuasion, over or under ranked.

This is all because we want to find out who is the BEST TEAM IN COLLEGE FOOTBALL without actually doing the things nescessary to find out who is the best team in college football.  This would sort of be like trying to research bonobos in their natural habitat without actually going to their natural habitat, and instead going to the zoo and watching them fight over peanuts and then giving the two involved bonobos massive travel bills.  That's basically how the whole bowl system works.  (I should also add, then, that the reason you cannot go to the bonobo's natural habitat is because your robot overlords won't let you leave, but will crunch some numbers if you ask them real nice.)

Having a robot work the BCS looks a lot like, not to alarm you or anything, the preliminary stages of a Robotocracy.  A robot is helping us make an important decision, a decision that some people probably feel is more important than healthcare reform and social security put together.  But I digress.

The point of playing a game isn't to see which team is better overall, but which team can perform better on the day, and win the game.  Imagine that for a second.  It's not about rankings and statistics, it's just about who can win, on the day.  And that's how it's supposed to be, but we've forgotten.  The truth is that there is no objective way to measure who is the best team, we can only see who has a better performance on the day.

3) God Cares About Sports


For those of you with body fat over 10% and friends, and who haven't ruined your life with running, Ryan Hall  was once considered to be the next promising American marathoner.  Now people hate him and think he's gone off his rocker.  While he had always been adamant that God put him on this Earth for the sole purpose of running fast, he announced that he would be dumping his coach and training himself.  He stated that he would use prayer and taking a "biblical approach" his training, which many people assumed meant that God would be coaching him.

First of all, if you believe that the only reason you even exist in the first place is to run fast to glorify God, you're going to have a hard time coping with failure.  Now, what he had been doing in training was clearly not working out his lofty expectations, and it was fuckling with his brain, hence his decision to dump his coach.  He is obviously not praying every day asking "God, what should I run today?  Send a plague of locusts for mile repeats or turn Big Bear Lake into blood for a long tempo."  He's training on feel, which in some cases can be a good idea, because no one knows Ryan Hall like Ryan Hall does.  Now I'm not sure what the bible has to say about training, but unless there is an obscure passage in Deuteronomy that commandeth 8x1,000 meter repeats on the track every other Tuesday, I don't think there's a whole lot.  Maybe he won't be running on Sunday or something.

But in my opinion, it's downright disrespectful to pray for any kind of athletic success, other than maybe mental fortitude (or not dying of severe internal bleeding in a UFC fight).  If God cared about sports, Israel would have way more Olympic gold medals, possibly all of them.  Nothing really hangs in the balance of a sports contest.  Standings, rankings, statistics, they're all, in a big picture cosmic/spiritual sense, meaningless.  But still:

4) Sports are Important


There are no more mastodon to hunt, no more sabertooth tigers to run from, no more plains of the Serengeti to cross on foot with only a handful of dried berries and a skin of your own piss.  In post-industrial America, we don't have anything to physically test us anymore.  Back in the day, if I wanted some eats, I would have to grab my spear and my piss skin and run around the desert for at least a day until a wildebeest or a deer or something dropped dead from exertion, then carry it all the way back to my hut that I built myself out of sticks and mud and the bones of my brother who got his head smashed in by a neighboring band of foragers, and come home to an entirely new member of my family, because wife had to give birth all by herself while I was gone and then made a dust and placenta pudding because I was taking so friggin long to get back.  Now I can just pick up the phone and have an acne-encrusted teenager bring a pizza right to my house.

And as much as that physical exertion can suck, we need it, some part of us needs it to stay sane.  The more technologically advanced we get, the more physically useless we will become.  (Except of course if that technology leads to some great catastrophe and we're once again fighting to survive as a species against psychotic crocodile-buffalo hybrids that some R&D asshole thought would be a great idea to start manufacturing.)  And that's why we have sports, and that is why sports are important.

Gritty Reboot

I need to go to sleep for a really long time.  Not like, a solid 8-10 hours of sleep or a straight 24 hour chunk or even a brief coma.  I need to hibernate, or better yet be cryogenically frozen, and give my brain the chance to just reset itself, do a system restore.  To mix my metaphors, if my brain were an artery, it would be clogged.  It would be clogged by the largest greasiest lump of neural distraction cholesterol known to man.


My library, my music library, entrusted to the unreliable Apple programmers (that's right techie assholes, they are fallible), it comforts me.  It’s comforting.  I look at my music library, in its gargantuan beauty, and I’m comforted, even if it is just a little.  68.5 days worth of music.  That’s 1.7125 lents worth of music, which is a long time.  It’s well over 1 dog year.  A dog could waste a year of its life and still not get through all of it.  They would get to like, Stanley Clarke and have an identity crisis about the year they just wasted.  And they wouldn’t even have heard Losing a Whole Year yet, so they wouldn’t have any song to express what they were going through.  But out of all 21,803 songs here, not one is the right song for the feeling of having an injury that frustrates the sanity out of you, you miss the most amazing people in the world who are scattered across the state and even across the country, you can’t relate to anyone because you feel like an awkward boob, and you can’t sleep because your house is literally vibrating from all the partying going on everywhere.  Everyone’s gone to the movies, and I’m stuck at home masturbating to a radio play.  (What?  What the hell is that even supposed to mean?  That’s the most bizarre figure of speech I’ve ever heard anyone use…)

Tri-tip for Congress!

"I'll get all my papers and smile at the sky
For I know that the hypnotized never lie"
-The Who, "Won't Get Fooled Again"

Our system may be a broken mess of corrupt partisan bullshit, but I still believe in democracy, because democracy gives me free tri-tip sandwiches.  Or at least Tom Watson does, who is running for congress (I'm pretty sure) as a Republican (at least I think so anyway).

We were sitting around our living room one evening when one of my housemate's friend comes in saying "dude, they're giving out free tri-tip sandwiches in that park by Embarcadero."  Being strapped for cash (probably because this site generates shit revenue, you know how to help out) I jumped out of my chair and headed for the door, which was a bad idea because I have a stress fracture in my back.  But free tri-tip!  When we got there, we discovered there was much more than free tri-tip.  There were tank tops that said "Tom Watson for Congress," bottle openers and ping-pong balls that bore the same insignia, and, holy shit, Tom Watson himself!  I recognized him from the TV ad where a supposedly rational yet nonthreatening woman rips on our current congressperson.  Tom Watson seems like someone who wouldn't mug me in a dark alley, and told me that he was a pole vaulter in college as he shook my hand which had cheeto dust on it.  Oops.  There was even music playing, including "Won't Get Fooled Again," which I never thought I would hear at anything to do with the Republican Party.  Times have changed.  But what as conspicuously absent was any sort of issues or even mention of politics at all.  We got free meat and some shirts that could be used as viral campaigning, and for a lot of people, that is enough.  "I'm going to vote for Tom Watson because he hooked me up, dude!"

This is a viable alternative to democracy.  Beware!

Now, I'm not so easily fooled, but I realize that I know nothing else about Tom Watson other than the fact he essentially bought me dinner.  Now, if he is elected because of this barbecue propaganda session and the decisions he makes while in office lead to economic collapse, that may be a very expensive dinner after all.  And what about his opponent, incumbent Lois Capps?  I don't know much about her either, although the vibe I get from her supporters reminds me of vegans and the smelly bra-burning friends that my mom has over sometimes.  I get the feeling that she would be serving tofu instead of tri-tip at her rallies.

But I know nothing about either of these candidates' policies, platforms, visions for America, Masonic connections, and so forth.  And the third guy is running as an independent, so I don't even know his name since he's effectively banished from politics by the two party system and therefore has no supporters.

This election cycle is a contest between the tide of moronic inferno that is the TEA Party movement and the impressionable idiots who are still feeling the "Yes We Can" hangover.  And while this could be a golden opportunity for candidates to change the way politics is conducted by educating voters on issues rather than empty talking points, it has become worse.  From watching the ads put out there by Jerry Brown and Meg Whitman, it makes it seem like these candidates are willing to go into my memories and kill my childhood pets with a rusty shovel.

Come November 2nd, I'll probably be voting for a tri-tip sandwich, because I know it can deliver.  And that's more than Tom Watson or Lois Capps can say for themselves.

Edit: For congressman, I ended up placing a write-in vote for "A Tri-Tip Sandwich" today.  And I hope you did too.

Edible/Audible, Round 4

More answers to the tough question: what if your favorite band were a food?

Tom Petty: Leftover Meatloaf
This is food with a fuck you attitude. This is food for people who just don't have it in them to cook something, at least not right now, or maybe its your breakfast because you're out of cold pizza.  Yeah, it's kind of chewy and lost a little flavor in the fridge, but fuck you man, you're gonna eat this shit.  It's got protein and whatever the hell kind of other stuff you put in it.

The Shins: Lentil Soup
A food that's comfort food even though it isn't very sweet or fatty, and in fact, supplies complete proteins and complex carbohydrates.  Also enjoyed by militant vegans, who are kind of like die-hard Shins fans.  Kind of.

Chick Corea Electric Band: Paella
Both complex and complicated, bringing a whole assortment of melodies, sounds, and even textures together

Slightly Stoopid: Taco Bell
Taking something great, be it reggae or standard taqueria fare, and trying to both imitate it and exaggerate it thematically creates something that is awkward and obnoxious, but still provides some cheap enjoyment.  Is also inseparably linked with being fucked up in one way or another.

Explosions in the Sky: Peyote-laced Jam
You would think that if a band were to be Peyote Jam, it would be Pearl Jam, since that is where their name comes from (Eddie Vedder allegendly had a great-grandmother named Pearl who had a recipe for peyote-laced jam, and anything is better than being called "Mookie Baylock") but Explosions in the Sky is a far more fitting band.  Whether it is brushing your teeth or clipping your toenails, getting stuck in traffic or riding in an elevator with someone who smells bad, every moment will seem like the most profound moment of your life if you are listening to Explosions in the Sky.

Barenaked Ladies: Fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt
Something that you kind of want to take seriously, but you can't quite get there.  (It probably has to do with the fact that one is most certainly Canadian and the other seems like it would be thought up by a Canadian.)

Localism: Why Decent People Don’t Need Nationalism - A Guest Post by Justin Flom

It's not every day that you get to be the medium of expression for a new political movement.  For this post, I'm very proud to present a guest piece by Mr. Justin Flom.  I asked him to write this piece after a discussion we had where he coined the term "Localism."  He did, and even went the extra mile as to supply song lyrics.  So without further ado, here is some stimulation for your political theory palate...

“What if every living soul could be upright and strong?

Well then I do imagine

There will be sorrow no more.”

-Bad Religion, Sorrow

The guy asked me if I could spare a moment. He had his pseudo-counter-culture military-style jacket on, so I figured even if I’m going to be pleaded into signing something, at least the guy’s got a good heart about it. I forgot it was getting to November, though. I took a quick look at what he was holding, a pamphlet about prop 23, and I knew I was about to get an earful about who knows what and how I can change it. Quickly I interrupted, making clear that I don’t vote. It wasn’t really part of my, uh…

            “Philosophy.” Wow. He finished my sentence for me. Although he was an alright guy, I didn’t stick around for the rest of the song and dance, so I wished Che Jr. luck on his mission and walked away. Unfortunately, there was no slow motion or explosion, just my Alaska t-shirt that says “call of the wild.”

            Even though I handled that situation like a dopamined sun bear, I like advertising that I don’t vote. It makes me feel like I have a purpose, or am an individual. Sure, a sizeable portion of the population doesn’t vote, but that’s because they’re too lazy to pick up a pen to fill in the ballot with, and those ballot reading machines don’t acknowledge dorito residue.

            To me, not voting is more of a form of political participation that voting actually is. People ask why I don’t vote, and if I’m in the right mood, I’ll vocalize my dissent of elections, politics and government in general. It’s like there’s a magician and he’s got everyone else fooled but me. Lots of folks treat voting like the greatest thing since sliced butter. As if the most righteous, patriotic thing you can do other than wear a flag is vote. I’m not the guy to be all up to date and accurate with statistics, but I’m sure I make a bigger difference telling others my opinion than jumping through hoops to put a checkmark next to some guy’s name.

            But let me get down to the point of why Nate asked me to write a fairly unrelated chapter to the continuing story of Spaceship Earth. The key word to my whole anti-voting campaign is a word called “Localism.” There was a day, not too long ago, when I would have called myself an Anarchist. Anarchism, however, gets a bad rap from pretty much everybody. It’s associated with violence, destruction, and most tragically, with being uncivilized. For some reason, people cannot dissociate a lack of government with people being assholes to each other. They have become inseparable. After deciding that I no longer wanted to try and fight ingrained societal beliefs and be thought of as a violent radical, I came up with my own political ideology. Hence, localism was born.

            Most of what Nate knows about localism came from a discussion I participated in on our way to one of our summer bowling nights. It was a very memorable conversation, especially when Max described representative democracy as one of the greatest inventions of mankind and I laughed. Sorry, Max. No offense to you. Anyway, whenever I must describe localism on the fly, it’s less effective, because I sometimes don’t have the opportunity to break down preconceived notions. Max believed democracy was the best because that’s what he’s been told his whole life. That’s not his fault, I used to be the same way, as a politically undeveloped rebel, I even voted once. Gasp! But when so many of the lessons taught to us were taught by the government, it only makes sense that the system’s first priority is the preservation of the system, so although we learn a lot of really great lessons, some of them are undeniably skewed. If you don’t trust anarchism, ask yourself why you don’t. There are reasons we don’t like fascism or communism, because there are recent historical examples of them not working.

            In response to this point, Max argued that there have been ‘experiments’ of anarchism, where small states would attempt to exist without a governing body. But with the looming presence of domineering governments, the communities failed and empires worldwide chuckled to themselves. I’m picturing an analogy where a frat bro hits a pledge’s shins with a shovel, makes him shotgun 10 beers and then sprint a half-mile. Fair? I think not.

            And, unless you’re a soulless demon-spawn, you’ll agree that it’s not fair. Which brings me to my next point: All people have the same basic morality. We understand that hitting other people with shovels is wrong. There are a lot of values that have been indoctrinated into our mass consciousness just because of our culture. Basic ideas like driving on the right side of the road and not wearing underwear on your head. Other ideas, however are simply part of human nature, such as not putting mayo on pizza and murdering other people. A small child, yet uninfluenced by the world, won’t know which side of the road to drive on, but will totally understand that it hurts to get your blanket stolen. As a Christian, I call the pre-placed morality part of the soul given to us by God, but for all you non-religious folks, you still understand that there are certain things that are big no-no’s, without having them be taught. So, how come these ‘natural laws’ are being broken right and left?

            Well, the easy answer is that people are irresponsible. The complicated reason is that the reason people put gum under the desk is the same reason as why people hold up liquor stores. Although people may not think through the logic often, most figure that there’s someone to clean up after them, or at least they’ve been raised in a world where things are done for them. Yes, I am calling government a nanny. Can’t feed your kids? It’s okay, nanny government will provide you with food stamps. Someone making fun of you? It’s okay, nanny government will comfort you by giving the bully a stern talking-to in the court of law. It’s about time for mankind to grow up and learn to make it’s own bed and meals. Or at least be able to microwave bagel bites.

            So, at this point, people ask me about various federal institutions which they feel they could not live without. I’ll admit, I love using country libraries and I attend a public university, so of course there are systems which are beneficial, but lots of other stuff could be easily privatized, even roads and schools. If you think I sound crazy, that’s because you’ve probably never seriously considered how you get your roads and schools. People pay taxes, so, you’re paying for a bunch of random crap anyways. Taxes are like taking 200$ to the supermarket and getting in return lots of things you weren’t asking for while not receiving some of the things you need. I needed a head of lettuce, why did I get a bicycle pump?

            And here we are at the gist of localism. And the difference between it and the layman’s definition of anarchism. Organization can and should exist, but proximal to where you are at. Government has made shortcuts for huge corporations which lead to outsourcing, which lead to fewer ways to get the things you need locally. In turn, those big companies help get those in government reelected. My neighbors on both sides administrate the shipment of goods from overseas, but I’d much rather one of them be a cooper and the other a fletcher. That way I can support those around me and lessen my carbon footprint in one fell swoop. Of course, there’s the inconvenience of me having to go to more than one place to fetch my barrels and arrows, but that’s part of being a more responsible person. (Barrels of arrows,though, are a whole different matter.)

            When everything relevant to us happens locally, we know exactly what’s going on, there’s no duplicity. We know how products are made, where they come from. We know who our local leaders are and what rules we’ve come up for ourselves and why they exist. There’s less bureaucracy  and more people actually getting things done. Competition between businesses is more fair. War is less probable and in worst case scenario, less afflicting. It’s generally a whole lot easier to agree among a town council, since there aren’t hundreds of thousands of lives being affected by the decision. The people in Washington, although they may have good intentions for you, their number one priority is always the next election and whether or not they’ll hold the office. How can you trust, or even willingly put power into their hands? People love Obama, but behind all of the suave media personality that he is, what kind of man is he really? How will we ever know? What happens when one of his successors screws up? You voted for him, so the blood will be on your hands. I’d rather trust leadership with a person that I know and can personally hold accountable.

            Government is a water balloon, and the bigger it gets, the closer it is to popping. Barely fill it up, and there’s less of a chance of it making it look like you peed in your pants.

            So, if you were planning on voting this upcoming election, don’t. And if you really have to, well, at least try to elect your aunt or junior high band teacher or something.


The Ozone Shack is a safe place for all thoughts and opinions.  If you would be interested in contributing as a guest writer, shoot me an email or contact us through our facebook page.

The 3rd Millenium: Party in the Robotocracy

I'm not afraid of robot overlords, trans-humans, test tube babies, government surveillance, mind control, corporate hegemony, alien overlords, or ramped-up eugenics.  I'm not even afraid of the grey goo that we'll all be turned into once nanotechnology goes awry.  I'm not afraid of a dystopia because, as I've made very clear before, we are already living in a dystopia.  The thing that scares me most about this dystopia is Miley Cyrus.

There are two types of people in 2010.  There are those who like Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA," and then there are those who hate it but for some reason deep down inside kinda like certain aspects of it.  For example, I'll punch a hole in the next speaker that I hear playing the song, but you can put a foil helmet on my head and call me paranoid if I don't like that guitar riff that they ripped off from some 70's R&B track who's title eludes me at the moment.  The song is ubiquitous. You can't escape it any more easily than you can escape the watchful eye of Big Brother.

The music industry has reached the point where they can pinpoint the exact musicological aspects of songs that people will find aurally pleasing.  If you've used Pandora you've experienced the lite version of this.  Songs are broken down into elements, or "genomes" as they're called by the folks at Pandora, and your feedback is used to determine which elements you like.  (For example, I'm all about extensive vamping, mixed electric acoustic and electric instrumentation, and busy horn sections, apparently.)  You can then discover music that sounds like the music you already know, but structured differently.

If you watched last election's presidential debates (ok, you probably didn't) you noticed that certain networks had instant feedback from voters using knobs to indicate whether what the candidates were saying had a positive or negative effect.  What people didn't realize is that this data was being used to determine which talking points were the best to hit, so speech writers could take the guesswork out of their jobs.

And now we have the same thing with music.  Using focus groups, record companies can find out which riffs are the most pleasing.  They're not looking for a riff that sounds good anymore, they're looking for the best riff, the riff that will hit our proverbial cash gag reflexes.  We don't know why we like the riff at the beginning of Party in the USA, we just do.  But the people who wrote and produced this song (aka, not Miley Cyrus) sampled literally dozens if not hundreds of riffs to use.  The same methodology was used for the synth bass line that everyone loves.  The lyrics are about what everyone loves: having fun, being un-inhibited, patriotism (sort of), hearing the music that you like, Middle America's disillusionment from Los Angeles, and the word "yeah!"

At some point down the road, it could be fifty years, it could be five, this is how all pop music will be made.  It will be nothing but aggregations of musical elements that have been empirically proven to please listeners most effectively.  Pop music will essentially become a gray goo of songs that all sound kind of the same.  And if that's not a dystopia, then I don't know what is.

I Can't Believe It's Not Peyote!

Between the Demoncrats and the Republican'ts, the Robocrats and the autocrats, the oligarchs and the old farts, the cuisinarts and the fruit tarts, the world wars and the fancy cars, country stars, flying-V guitars and the life on Mars, between the nobodies and the homebodies, the deadheads and the Murphy beds, old maids, plasma grenades, and the Everglades, between Chicago and Shanghai, the Amazon and the River Kwai, the Superdome and the Coliseum in Rome, between the plans we made, the dreams that fade, the destinies we evade and the friends we made, between the A-Team and A Love Supreme, between me, and you, and all the reckless things we do, I just want a slice of the sky so that when you and I are burnt out shells of our former selves, when our adventures become misadventures and we want nothing more than to dance the night away in the corner and split a bucket of clams; I want a slice of the sky where I'm glad I'm not someone else.

Sports Are Important

If the rest of the media were run in any way close to the way that ESPN is, we would all be much more well informed people.  In the parallel universe where cable news is as in-depth and entertaining as Sports Center, I could probably name all nine supreme court justices, be able to tell you exactly how much Meg Whitman's campaign has raised, and rattle off the GDP's of most industrialized nations (and of course it would be adjusted for Purchasing Power Parity).  And I would care.  I would really care about Kosovo and the plight of the Kurds, I would understand why the hell the Western Sahara is not really its own country and why the European Union isn't so hip anymore.

In my house right now, we care the fuck about sports.  If the TV is on, your best bet is that it will be playing a football game or Sports Center.  Sports Center does everything that cable news tries to do, but can't.  There's in depth analysis of issues, debate, dissent, panels of experts that actually look good in suits, and most importantly, the female reporters are hotter.  You want to watch Sports Center because it's entertaining, and because you care about sports, because sports are important.  Granted, cable news has a huge disadvantage, in that even Cubs fans are way less depressing than another batch of starving refugees.

When we get to the levels of fandom and money that come with professional and collegiate sports, everything becomes business, and sports is only a game as much as the Pacific Theater was a bunch of people sitting in their bathtubs pretending they were ship's captains, wearing sailor hats made out of newspaper.  The first experience I had with team sports was first grade tee ball league, where you never get out even if you should be out, and both teams win.  And snacks, you always got snacks.  Except when my mom forgot it was her turn to be the snack mom, when I got my first experience being that guy.

At some point, Little League became less about having fun and getting bonus points for not picking your nose in the outfield, and more about winning.  I couldn't catch a ball, I couldn't hit the ball, and my arm was apparently improperly calibrated at birth, forcing me to assume the mantle of the worst kid on the team.  Now, out of all of those kids, I am probably the only one who is an NCAA Division I athlete, which I guess gives hope to all you youngsters who suck at sports now, but only those of you who can run fast.  I think that we embrace sports as a culture because it's the only real physical struggle most of us deal with in the industrialized and post-industrial world.  Everybody needs to be tested, and since we are no longer taking down mastodon or defending our fields from barbarian hordes, sports serves as the last real physical testing ground.  And since most of us can't play sports at a high level, with the bar rising every day, we have to settle for being fans.

I find that I can't really get behind any professional sports team (the sole exception being the A's).  I know this makes me a total yurt dwelling communist-hippie, but I have come to the realization that professional sports teams are no different than IBM or Wal Mart, corporations that trick you into becoming loyal in an attempt to make money.  And the professional sports industry is highly successful.  That's right, it's an industry.

But a bizarre twist of events has got me to care about the NFL.  This is because the evil marketing geniuses at ESPN got me hooked into a fantasy football league.  And since everyone in my house is participating, we care the fuck about sports even more than we normally would.  Two weeks ago, I was barely aware that the Detroit Lions existed.  Their offensive line could have consisted entirely of shaved apes and I would be unaware.  But now that Jahvid Best is on my fantasy team, I need to care, and I do.

Which leads us to my brilliant idea for making us all informed about global politics.  Fantasy Countries!  You get points for events in the news regarding world leaders and national institutions that you draft.  This will trick us into watching the news, which will trick us into being informed.  I'm drafting Sarkozy as my head of state, Wen Jiabao as my head of government, Canadian Parliament as my legislature, the US Constitution as my constitution, China as my military, the CIA as my intelligence agency, Germany for my manufacturing sector, Lichtenstein for my financial sector, my national history from Turkey, and my disenfranchised ethnic minorities from the Democratic Republic of the Congo.  It will be called Slapistan, and you can join my fantasy league if you want.

Until next time, Earth. And I promise it will be much sooner.

Popcorn Machine

"We got to install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We gotta move these refrigerators
We gotta move these color TVs"
-Dire Straits, "Money for Nothing"

The other day at work, as I was clearing out a storage closet, I had to move a carnival-style popcorn machine. For some reason I was hoping I would feel like I was in some sort of magical, exciting, slightly whimsical state of existence as I moved it, and that somewhere in the background a pipe organ would start playing "The Entertainer." Maybe a clown car would drive up and carnies would start setting up a ring-toss game and funnel cake would come raining down. But instead it was just more shit I had to move. There was nothing exciting about it.

I think this is a sign of growing up.

As a kid, when you don't understand things, everything is exciting, or at least has the potential to be used as something fun. The older you get, and the more you understand things, everything just becomes an obstacle. If you grow up right, there are no adventures, only inconveniences.

So as much as I've tried to avoid growing up - eating apple jacks instead of special K, believing that my car is a spaceship, etc. - it looks like I may be heading in that direction. For example, I am starting to like coffee.  Coffee is an "acquired taste," which means that it's something you're not actually supposed to like but you trick yourself into liking it anyway. Coffee tastes bitter. Poisonous plants usually taste bitter. You are not supposed to eat poisonous plants. This means you are probably not supposed to drink coffee, but we do it anyway because we're a society of addicts and we're convinced that it makes us adults.

I remember my first cup of coffee. I was in fifth grade. On that particular day, I had to give a speech of some sort, as I was running for class office.  I was up at four in the morning because I couldn't sleep, and my dad decided that I was going to need energy for the big day ahead of me, so he gave me coffee. (It's ok, I'm 6'1" so it's not like it stunted my growth at all.) After every sip I would pour in some milk until it got to the point where I could actually drink it because it was essentially milk with a hint of mocha. And I felt so damn grown up because I was drinking coffee. I hated it, but the novelty was enough to overcome the fact that it tasted worse than all of the kale soup my mom made ever put together.

I still hate coffee, but now it's at least become something that seems normal, even though probably as early as middle school some of my peers were drinking it for its utilitarian function. If we're using coffee as a litmus test  for adulthood (in an actual litmus test, coffee would give you a 6.9), then I'm, well, at least in the early stages of being grown up. As a result, the imagination lobe in my brain will now atrophy. Sticks will no longer become guns and swords, swings are no longer airplanes, brooms are no longer guitars, cooking pots are no longer helmets, broken sprinklers are things to be fixed rather than things to play with, cardboard boxes are for recycling instead of being building materials for forts, the newspaper is for reading and not for making hats, I know why the sky is blue, I know how cars work, I know where babies come from, I have to register for the draft which could (theoretically) turn me into an army man at any second as opposed to voluntarily dressing up like an army man and shooting imaginary Iraqis, I'm starting to legitimately consider things like "grad school" and "health insurance," and it will probably be in the next few years that one of my close friends gets married. I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

And to top it all off, there is nothing different between a popcorn machine and a rack of folding chairs; they're both heavy shit that needs to be moved.

All I can say is: I want my MTV.

A Lesson We Can All Learn from Tom Petty

Listening to classic rock radio has taught me some valuable life lessons.  For example, a few weeks ago, I got in the car, and turned on the radio just as the riff from "China Grove" was playing.  This is the riff that opens the song, but it also plays in the middle, and my buzz was killed when I realized that I wasn't going to hear all of China Grove, I was just going to hear the last chorus and the vamp out.  But just as it was ending, Led Zeppelin's "Fool in the Rain," which in my opinion is an even more awesome song, came on.  The lesson?  Even if something is ending or didn't last as long as you wanted it to, something with an even higher degree of ass-kickerry is right around the corner.

But the latest and most important lesson I've learned from classic rock radio actually came from a new song that they still somehow have dubbed "classic rock" simply because it's by an older artist who definitely... has the bulk of his career behind him, shall we say.  Although he is now 60, Tom Petty, with the aid of his trusty Heartbreakers, has released a new album.  I would in no way have any problem with this album if it weren't for the album's biggest single, "I Should Have Known It."

Everyone says "it sounds like Zeppelin!"  Big, heavy, bluesy guitar riffs, a plodding beat with loud cymbals and a heavy snare, and tortured, broken vocals, sounds awesome and Zeppelin-esque, don't it?

Except that it's Tom Petty, and not Robert Plant.

Tom Petty is a great singer and a great musician, but for all his talent Tom Petty is really only good at sounding like Tom Petty.  And on "I Should Have Known It," it seems as though he's trying to sound like something he's not.  The instrumentals kick ass, and he has the attitude right, but it just doesn't work.  Tom Petty just isn't the kind of singer who handles that kind of vocal line well, and the song falls flat as a result.  (Yes, I realize I am constantly referring to Tom Petty by his full name. I feel like he's one of those people who should always be referred to by their full name, because he's not monumental enough to be just "Tom" and just calling him "Petty" sounds weird.  Get used to it.)

So, what does it mean that Tom Petty made a song that he shouldn't have made because singing it just doesn't suit him well? Does it mean he's any less of a musician or a performer or that it detracts from any of the other albums he's made? Does this cause him to unmake Full Moon Fever? Not at all.

I want to be able to do everything, and if I can't, or am not good at something, I feel like it's almost a character flaw, something that's wrong with me.  I want to be able to be good at everything, which is just plain impossible.  And I feel like everyone else is good at more things than I am.

But some people just aren't good at certain things, and these same people excel at other things.  You probably suck at way more things than you are good at.  My problem is that I want to not suck at anything and be good at everything, and it kills me, literally damages my self-image, when I can't do something.  This is not healthy.

One of my best friends called me out on this, and I sort of realized what was wrong with me, but to be honest, for all of her verbally slapping me upside the head with my own stupidity, it didn't really congeal in my mind until I heard "I Should Have Known It" (and hated it) playing on the radio the next day.  Sometimes, people just aren't good at certain things, but that doesn't detract from what they can do, and more importantly, who you are as a person.  Because chances are, you're amazing, even if you can't sing a Zeppelin-esque blues/play soccer/play video games/dance/run fast/jump high/talk good/meet people/blow your nose/get out of bed/do whatever very well.

So if you're reading this, and you know me, this is my apology (kind of lame, I know) for the way I've been acting as of late, and I'm sorry I had to learn my lesson from Tom Petty instead of from you guys.  I'm learning to accept what I can't do. Because there are so many things I can't do.

Demons, Rainbows, and a Whole Lot of Fast: My Journey to Track Town, USA

Ok, this post is kind of overdue in a bad way.  But I can explain.  Wait, no I can't.  There is no cool story as to why this is late, but if it makes you feel better you can pretend that I was captured by a South American drug cartel and escaped on a hang glider I made out of banana leaves and empty Fanta bottles.



July 3rd was one of the fastest days in Hayward Field's storied history, with the first sub 13 clocking on American soil and stadium records falling left and right.  And I was there.

The Prefontaine Classic is one of, if not the, premier track meet held in the United States.  Named after the late, great, and seemingly infinitely marketable Steve Prefontaine, the meet is held at the University of Oregon's historic Hayward Field.  We had the idea to make a road trip up there a few months ago, after it was announced that Chris Solinsky, who had just broken the American Record in the 10,000 meters at Peyton Jordan, would be  running the 5k and potentially had a shot at going sub-13 and setting an American record at that distance.  Life doesn't always go like you plan it though, and Bernard Lagat ended up breaking the American record a few weeks prior in Oslo, with Solinsky running the third fastest time by an American in the process. Lagat then decided to run the mile at Pre, leaving Solinsky and OTC teammate Matt Tegenkamp to represent USA, neither of whom ended up going sub-13.  That being said every race was stacked and I will probably never see a better meet outside of Europe, East Africa, or an Olympic Stadium.

But first we had to get to Eugene, and Eugene is a long way away.

I volunteered to be the driver, because I love driving.  I once drove for thirteen hours and it felt like three.  I am happy when I'm behind the wheel in a bubble of steel and glass, especially in the lonely parts of the world. Eight hours to Eugene would be no problem for me.

I did encounter a problem when we stopped for lunch.  We stopped at a subway across the street from an establishment called "The Berry Patch," which I foolishly assumed sold berries.  I thought "great, I'm going to get some berries and we can eat them in the car or in Eugene and we will be happy because everybody loves berries!"  I walk in only to discover that THERE ARE NO BERRIES SOLD AT THE BERRY PATCH.  It was one of those combination restaurant and homespun country gift shops that sell adorable but useless knick-knacks that old people find adorable, as well as nuts and olives.  Sorely disappointed, I ended up buying an eight dollar bottle of olives, for some reason.

IT'S A TRAP!

Disheartened, I got back on the road and kept driving.  Took it like a champ.

As soon as we crossed the state line, it seemed, it got cloudy.  Before we had entered the middle of nowhere, everything on the radio was country music or mariachi, and before that was mass-produced corporate hip-hop, but in Oregon, when I tried the radio for a few minutes, I got Steely Dan and Bowie right away.  The air felt clear.  Why have I never known Oregon was so awesome? I thought.

But our "welcome to Oregon" moment came about an hour outside of Eugene, when we got pulled over for speeding.  I can't say it's entirely my fault though.  I would like to blame it on Billy Joel.  We were listening to "We Didn't Start the Fire," which of course I know all the lyrics to, so of course I had to blast it and sing along, and of course I got excited and before you knew it I was going 85 in a 65 zone.  Whoops.

The officer strolled up to our vehicle.  He asked us where we were headed, and I told him that we were going to Eugene, to watch a track meet at Hayward field.  He immediately knew that we were talking about the Pre classic, and then recommended some runs for us to do in the Eugene area.  He then asked if there was "any legal reason why I was going so fast."  For some reason, the thought running through my brain was not "oh no, I'm going to get a ticket now," but "this is so cool, a police officer just recommended a run for us to do.  Everyone is a runner up here!"  I knew it was a trick question, and told him so, cracking a big smile as I did, for some reason.

"You seem pretty smart, are you a college kid?"

I told him I was, and that I run for my school.  He ended up not only letting us off with a warning, but giving us a heads up that there were a lot of speed traps between us and Eugene.  "Are you a runner?" I asked.

"I was, a long time ago," he said.

My day being made, we drove on, at the speed limit of course.  In the next hour we saw at least ten rainbows, including one where it looked like we were literally at the end.  As much as I would have liked for leprechauns to appear and dance around the car, showing us a pot of gold in  the trunk, rainbows are, unfortunately, just visual effects, but still, it was pretty damn cool.

Another Reason why Oregon is Awesome

There's something about Eugene.  Maybe just because I've heard all the stories, watched all three Prefontaine movies, read Kenny Moore's book, that Eugene has this sort of magical aura about it.  When we rolled in, the air was clear from the rain that had just fallen, people were rafting on the Willamette, and as we drove through the streets, there were runners everywhere.  There were even mileage markers on some of the main roads.

That night we drove around Eugene, trying to see the sights, but then we realized that Eugene doesn't really have any sights.  Once you've driven by Hayward Field and Mac Court, there isn't really much else that nerdy runners like that you can visit at nighttime.  We ended up hanging out on Hayward Field's practice track, and ended up getting yelled at by security guards.

Another fact about Eugene: at night, it is populated by demons.  The first one we noticed around 10:30, a haggard man in a beard riding around aimlessly.  At night for the rest of the trip, we would see strange people on bikes.  They were terrifying!  The other issue I have with Eugene and Oregon in general is that you can't pump your own gas.  I have a problem with this.

Oh Shit, We're Here...

For track fans, Hayward Field is like Disneyland and Mecca combined.  I've seen videos, heard stories, but I didn't realize that it is an actual bona-fide magical place.  Being in the cheap seats, we didn't quite get to experience the roar coming from the grandstand, but we did get to witness the incredible results it produces.  The meet started off with what may have been the fastest "B" heat of the mile ever, with Ryan Gregson and AJ  Acosta both running 3:53.

Solinsky ended up coming up a bit short of expectations in the 5,000, but I was still there for the first sub-13 on US soil, no big deal or anything.  Flannagan and the OTC tearing it up in the women's 5,000 and Dibaba setting a US soil record, again, no big deal.  There was Wheating running a 3:51 mile, just behind Kiprop's 3:49.  Tyson Gay battling Walter Dix in the 200 was one of the best races I have ever seen (insert joke here.) My personal highlight was getting a picture with David Oliver on his victory lap, right after he set the American record in the 110 hurdles.  Me taking the picture with him made it onto national TV.  Ok, kind of a big deal.

I was thinking that I would be inspired.  Instead, it was a little demoralizing.  They're so fast.  They're stealth bombers and I'm The Spirit of St. Louis's retarded cousin.  The thing about track is that you know exactly how much better than you someone is.  Watching Solinsky and the Africans bang out 62 second quarters felt just a little like getting the finger from God (now I know how Ryan Hall felt after Boston, zzzzzzzzzing!) But it's ok, Mr. Lydiard says if I keep pounding out them 2 hour runs I'll be better someday if my joints don't fold first, right?  Right?!?

After the meet, we ran the Amazon trail, which was recommended to us by Jordan Hasay, again, not really a big deal or anything.  We made the obligatory sojourn to Pre's rock, ran Pre's trail, and went to Track Town Pizza where we all but touched ourselves in front of a picture of Nick Symmonds.  Track Town Pizza is kind of like those restaurants in the boonies that you go to not because of the food but for all of the tacky yet charmingly homespun memorabilia (or farm equipment and outdated license plates) that they put up on the walls.  I brought an old pair of flats, leaving one on Pre's rock, and keeping the other one, so I can talk to him now, using the one shoe I have kind of like that scene where the guy uses a gun as a phone in Dreamcatcher.


But the best part about Eugene is that the next day, the entire front page of the Eugene Register Guard was devoted to coverage of the meet.  Name one other city in America that would do that.

Maybe I am missing out by living in one of the sunny parts of the world.

Goal!!!

When American's don't excel at a sport on the international stage, we see this as a problem that needs to be fixed immediately.  While this isn't exactly true with fringe sports like curling and team handball, we seem to have a big problem when we are not kicking ass and taking names in every major international competition.  While there are exceptions, notably China in the last Olympics, it doesn't seem as though it's as big of an issue in other countries.  Kenyans don't say "you know, we're sitting on top of the world of distance running, but we need to break the United States' and Jamaican's hold on sprinting."  Their national identity is associated with being excellent distance runners.  The problem is that in America, our national identity is associated with winning things like the Space Race and world wars.  We're the biggest, fattest, most productive* nation on earth, yet we seem to be evenly matched with some greasy Eastern Europeans from the former Soviet Satellite of Slo-whatchemacallit, it's a bit hard for us to take.  We live and breathe sports in America, but in a lot of countries, they only live and breathe soccer (ok, football.)

*Excluding China, Japan, Singapore, India, Germany, Switzerland, most Norse countries, Malaysia, and every country where facebook and iPhones have yet to catch on

Right now though, we seem to be doing ok.  Or at least, we seem to be performing respectably, advancing out of group play into the elimination rounds.  And this has people asking "will this make soccer more popular in America?"

The answer is no.

Every kid in Suburban America grows up playing youth soccer, with the orange slices and the Capri-Sun juice pouches and that parent that cares way too much.  I was the kid picking his nose and daydreaming about having powers like Goku in Dragon Ball Z while the ball would go flying past me or flying into my face, then everyone would yell at me and it would be ostracize-fest 99 and I would feel bad and really wish I had powers like Goku so I could go kah-meh-ha-meh-haaaaaaa on their athletically gifted little asses.  This was a big deal, because, well, I'm not exactly sure why, but it's nice to win things.  Unfortunately, I never got to experience winning because I was always on awful teams.  One season we scored a grand total of 3 goals the entire season.  The one good to come out of this whole fiasco was that I discovered I could at least beat other kids down the field, which would lead to future feelings of athletic inadequacy.

The more athletically gifted kids get separated soon after when they join hegemonic club soccer teams that require your soul as the membership fee.  This is not hyperbole.  This is an even bigger deal because everybody cares a whole lot more, and your soul is at stake, because if you win the big tourney you may actually get it back!  Just kidding!  From what I have observed, club soccer is a life ruiner.  So if you have kids, ovaries, or testicles, remember, don't ever let your kids do club soccer.  It would be a better idea to have them work in a coal mine.

The paradox seems to be that everybody here plays it just nobody likes watching it or has the ambition to be really good at it.  We don't have the cultural incentive.  Soccer players aren't lionized like football/basketball/baseball stars are.  Between Major League Baseball, the NBA, the NFL, and collegiate Football and Basketball, Americans have enough to care about, unlike in Ghana, where the only thing your country has going for itself is a pretty good soccer team, or the UK, where it's culturally acceptable to get into massive drunken brawls to display your fanhood.

And everybody complains that "soccer is boring to watch."  We complain about how it's low-scoring and how there's too much midfield action and it's not exciting like REAL AMERICAN FOOTBALL!  But, let me say this.  In American football, at least half the time is taken up with commercials, and even more time is taken up with inane commentary.  A standard game takes up an hour of play, but a football game on television takes up three hours.  We love watching a game where two thirds of the game isn't actually the game, but soccer is boring because they're actually playing the whole time?  The reason isn't because soccer is boring.

It's because soccer doesn't have as much advertising value.

Even if you were some kind of time-warping wizard, you could not come close to packing as many commercials into a broadcast of a soccer game as you could into a broadcast of a football game.  And in America, where corporations have come to dominate our cultural landscape, that is the reason why soccer will never be popular.  The people who control the system know that they can turn a much larger profit if we care about American football instead of regular football.

And that is why most Americans will never really care about a soccer match.