On Friday, somebody sent me this link, saying it reminded them of me. I wasn't quite sure how to take that, so I asked why deformed genitalia made them think of me. Fortunately the response was satisfactory. Apparently I "seem to find oddball stories like this" and the person "did not mean to associate [me] with deformed man parts." Phew.

Just what I've always wanted. My own personal subservient chicken.

So I promised I'd tell the story of Reiffer and the double thumbs-up. Here goes...

Kimmy, Reiffer and I went to a Clarks show at The Magic Bag. The opener was Will Hoge and they were pretty good, especially for an opener at a weekday show. So The Clarks are just launching into their set when, as seems to be the custom with her, Reiffer's two Rolling Rocks have already gone through her and she's got to bolt for the ladies room. On her way back she runs into Hoge and band in the back of the venue and, frazzled from rushing to get back to the show and possibly a little fuzzy from the Rolling Rock, the only thing she can think to do is shove out both thumbs, cock her head to one side, say, "Nice job, man!" and trot off. Once she has time to digest what she's done, she is mortified, but resolves to redeem herself by bringing back the double thumbs-up as an appropriate and possibly even hip sign of affirmation. Ever the supportive roommate, I joined her quest and attempted to bust out the double thumbs-up "Nice job!" as much as possible. But, alas, our efforts were in vain. There is still nothing cool about the double thumbs-up.

My Linguistic Profile:

80% General American English

15% Upper Midwestern

5% Yankee

0% Dixie

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Last Saturday night saw Sara and Beth at The Sphere in Buffalo to catch the Ryan Adams show. And boy, was it a show.

The venue was one of the coolest I've ever been in. Although it was general admission (aka "no seating") the club is round in shape and has many tiers to it so that there are good views from just about everywhere. The acoustics were also spectacular.

I wish that we had been able to catch all of the opener, Rachel Yamagata. She had modest backup from only a guitarist, cellist, and her own playing, either on piano or guitar. The stripped own arrangement was perfect because it put her gorgeous, lived-in voice up front and center. I was disappointed we only caught the last couple of songs of her set.

No complaints though because Ryan Adams and The Cardinals were spectacular. I wasn't quite sure what to expect going into the show since Adams has been known as a hopelessly difficult person, prone to occasional outbursts at unruly concert-goers or even his own band. But some voice inside told me that I could not miss this show. I'm glad I listened.

Ryan Adams is the artist everybody, critics in particular, loves to hate. A prolific writer with an intense love for both the classic country and rock & roll cannons, he seemingly invites criticism. All this has led to 4-star reviews saturated with caveats and barbs. "[He]'s got diarrhea of the recording studio" and is "predisposed to [publishing] every whim", he "apes" so-and-so, thrown in with even more enfant terrible references than those heaped upon Conor Oberst, who as also been accused of "mistaking prolificness with profoundness". (Try "prolificacy", pal.) And it's not just the pretentious set leveling the "he's affected and self-important" accusations. The opposite end of the spectrum has also been frustrated by his dabbling in a diversity of styles and topics and his preference to play new, unreleased material live rather than regurgitating the "hits". (Even going so far as play entire sets of songs he had just composed earlier that day.) But hey, can't we just lay down the knives for a little bit? Let's not slay a guy for having the compulsion to create or the gratitude to pay homage to those who have inspired him. Where's the love?

Alright, with my "lay off Ryan Adams" diatribe behind me, let's move on to the show in Buffalo a week ago. As Adams' new album Cold Roses appeared to indicate, the muse has led him into a territory of rootsy jamming a la Grateful Dead. He's found himself a consistent band to collaborate with and it's clear they've fallen into a groove that's comfortable without being lazy or routine. The first set was composed of songs from Cold Roses and material that I can only assume is scheduled for release later this year on one of Adams' other two scheduled album releases. "Easy Plateau" was the standout from this set, with it's blistering spaced-out jam.

There were a couple of things that surprised me about this show besides the devolution of Adams' appearance to a haphazard mix of scary Robert Smith bedhead with a Rivers Cuomo-style emo geekiness and plenty of facial hair to boot. I was caught off-guard by Adams' guitar prowess from the start. But even more startling was the quality of the vocals. Normally live vocals suffer in clarity and quality compared to studio recordings. Of course artists are generally able to make up for this with intensity and delivery which cannot be conveyed in a polished studio recording. This is why we see artists live. Adams voice appears to be an anomaly. Surprisingly enough, his voice actually gained strength and clarity live, which led to vocal interpretations that were off the charts in quality. Which is why it was one of the most popular topics of conversation during the break.

The second set was a little more intimate and off-the-cuff and kicked off with Adams alone at the piano playing a couple of new tunes. Finally, a frustrated fan yelled out, "Play something we know!" This woke up Adams who had hardly spoken all night. "You may not have heard them before, but you know them now," he replied. "I'm a songwriter. That's what I do. Do I come to you at your job and say, 'Stop doing what you're doing. Make something I know.'?" And with that he launched into yet another unfamiliar song. Finally, the ornery Ryan Adams I had been expecting to see made an appearance. But after that he finally gave the crowd what they wanted by playing his gentle, thoughtful cover of Oasis' "Wonderwall" and followed it up with a gorgeous solo rendition of his own "Sylvia Plath". Then more banter with the audience as he awkwardly attempted compliment the efforts of the Historical Preservation Society of Buffalo and was interrupted by a patron telling him to be quiet. "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting you?" Adams retorted. "Everyone, can we have a few seconds of silence so this person can finish what he was saying?" Silence. And with that he finished his remarks and resumed the show.

Adams brought the band back out for the final crowd pleasers; a roughed-up, mellowed out "New York, New York" and a raucous, rambling take on "Shakedown on 9th Street" to close out the show.

I have very few complaints about the show. How can you complain when you get 4 1/2 hours of high-caliber live music for $25?! Okay, so the guitar soloing got a little self-indulgent at times and after 3 hours I was starting to wish for a place to sit, but other than that, I couldn't have asked for more. Sign me up for another one.

I have decided I'd like to start some new slang. From now on, when something is just right it will be called "goldilocks". For example:

"Those shoes are goldilocks, dude. Puttin' 'em with those pants is just tight!"

Or

"The burger? Goldilocks, man. It's goldilocks."

So go ahead and try it out. This will be fun. Kinda like when Reiffer tried to bring back the double thumbs-up. I'll tell you that story later.

And I thought the National Air Guitar League was bad. This is much worse. 1.75 POUNDS of butter in 5 minutes! Ewwwwww....

I've seen the commercials and it's grossing me out. Is it just me or does the Wendy's Classic Tripple look disgusting? It's like a giant cube of low-grade meat. And don't me started on the meat/bread ratio.

Why is it that all online dating advertisement banners prominently feature cleavage? I'd like to think that maybe there are still a few guys out there looking for more than just a nice rack. I guess I'm just a romantic.

If, indeed, "every kiss begins with Kay", there must be an awful lot of people out there who aren't gettin' any.

Sometimes I wonder how I manage to find my way through a day. But for all the chaos I breed and as clueless as I feel, I will occasionally come across someone who reminds me it could be much worse.

The other day I had just such an experience. I went to the grocery store, picked up the items on my list, and got in line to check out. Now I think we've all been behind people in line who forget to pull out their coupons on time or to put that 24-pack of TP on the belt or, my personal favorite, they refuse to even pull out their checkbook until after the total is read to them and THEN proceed to slowly fill out their check. These are all frustrating, but nothing in comparison to what I experienced the other day.

The man in front of me wanted to debit part of his purchase and get some cash, only he had apparently never used his debit card before because he had no idea how to use the card-reader at the checkout to actually complete the transaction. After receiving detailed instructions from the cashier, he scanned his card and proceed to enter the amount of cash he wanted when he was supposed to enter his PIN. "No, Sir. You need to enter your PIN first."

At this point I look up and see people who were behind me in line already walking out the door.

So he starts the process over again, enters the PIN and then gets over anxious with the "Enter" key and blows right through the part where he's supposed to enter his cash amount.

I'm thinking about trying to find another cashier, but my stuff's already on the belt, so I'm committed.

So they cancel the transaction and try again. Only this time, when entering his cash amount, he gets all spastic on the zero key and requests $4000 cash. So they try again and he makes the same mistake AGAIN, followed by two subsequent attempts where he enters $400 instead of $40.

Now this whole time he's removing his glasses and putting them back on, pulling his face to within two inches of the screen on the card-reader, and then leaning back. Now I'd expect this kind of behavior from a 90-year-old maybe, but this guy looked to be maybe 45.

Anyway, fifth time was a charm and he finally got it right and went on his way, but not after I'd waited 20 minutes in the checkout line. Don't worry, I was kind and patient with the guy.

That's why I have this blog. To vent so I can continue to be patient with those who frustrate me. Sounds downright noble, doesn't it?

My key incident last week inspired PJ to write me about similar, but even funnier incident she experienced several years ago:

I just got done reading your latest blog entry and it about cracked me up.

It reminded me of a similar incidence that I had years ago when I was moving from my Old Orchard apartment to my York Creek apartment...

One of the last things to move was my pet bird named Spot. Spot was in the fairly good sized cage and I took it out and put it in my car, locked up the old apartment and headed for the new, it was in the afternoon around 3:00 or so. Anyway, I get to the new apartment with Spot and go to take him and the cage out of the car when the bottom comes unsnapped and Spot hops out down on the floor of the front passengers side. I'm like "Oh Crap" and I go to reach for Spot and he flutters around trying to get away from me, so I think I better move my car into the new garage that came with my new apartment, and shut the door while I try to get him out so he doesn't fly away.

I get the car in the garage and close the door and go to get Spot out of the car and he starts fluttering around some more then suddenly he takes a hop and jumps up under the dash board on the passengers side. I'm like "Crap" so I start reaching up under the dash to try to pull him out and he starts squawking at me and pecking at my hand so I pull back a little and he settles down so I go for him again and this time he jumps up farther under the dash to where I can't even see him any more...this goes on for some time...finally I decide to start taking my dash board apart. So I've got the dash all torn apart laying all over the garage and not knowing if I'll ever be able to get it back in place. But now I figure I can get that little s**t. So I see him and reach for him and he hops even farther up and behind something else up in there.

By this time it's getting late, I'm talking hours later and it's getting dark out.

I was quite shook up but figured I better get some sleep and I'll tackle this thing in the morning. So I close the car up and the garage and say good night to Spot and head in for my first nights sleep in my new apartment...all I could think about all night was Spot.

Well, the next morning rolls around and I'm "up with the birds". I go out to the garage and get in my car and I yell out "Spot" and I don't hear a thing. I get down and try looking for him and I still can't see him. Now I'm getting worried thinking that he croaked over night and is stuck up under my dash.

Anyway, I finally figure I better get to my old apartment cuz I had an awful lot of cleaning to do and this was my last day to do it before turning in the keys.

So, I'm bombing down Alpine feeling really bad about Spot when suddenly I hear this real chipper tweeting start up and all the way to the old apartment he's just tweeting away sounding all happy and gay.

I get to the old apartment and I figure Spot must be getting hungry so a sprinkle some of his food on the floor below the dash and make a little trail up to his cage (Spot always liked his cage, I always left the door open for him so he could come and go as he pleased but he always preferred to stay in his cage).

I then go in the old apartment and proceed to clean. I’m in there for about 4 hours cleaning and I figure I'll go check on Spot. So I go down to the car, open the door and there's Spot sitting back in his cage on his swing chirping away like nothing ever happened. I immediately closed the cage door and got him back in one piece to the new apartment...I figured I wasted a total of about 7 hours dinking around with that little critter.

I now refer to it as "Spot's Big Adventure".

Thursday evening I had an episode like only Sara can.

I went to go biking along the Erie Canal after work. I unloaded my bike, water bottle, and helmet and got ready to go. I pulled my car key off my janitor-like ring of keys and prepared to slip it into my pocket. Only it didn't make it to my pocket. It slipped out of my hand and slid down between the driver's seat and the console. Oops. So I slid my hand down in there to retrieve it. The tips of my fingers touched it and as I tried to pull the key closer, it flipped away and under the seat. D'oh! So I went in up to my elbow, feeling around under the seat, but no key. I slid the seat forward and backward, up and down, giving that poor motor under the seat the biggest workout of its life. After 45 minutes of reaching from every direction I had found 5 pens, 2 pencils, a tube of chapstick, a perfume sample, 3 french fries and $0.56, but no key. My frustration and desperation was so great that I finally pulled out my Leatherman and, determined to show that seat who was boss, started to dismantle the front seat. Fortunately after getting a few trim pieces up, I hit a tight spot where I couldn't quite get the Phillips screw to turn and it slowed me down long enough for me to come to my senses. It would be dark in less than two hours and since the key I dropped not only locked my car, but also started it, I knew I had only one choice: bike the 4 miles home and get my spare key. So that's what I did. Except this was the first time I'd ridden my bike this spring and once I got started, it became quite apparent that there was a problem: my tires were flat. ::sigh:: Figures. But I perservered. And got back to my car before dark.

What is it about me that invites chaos?

Sometimes I get embarrassed because when I try to describe my job to people it sounds really boring. Then I remember my friend Leta who is a tax auditor for the State of Michigan and I realize it could be worse. Yesterday she sent me this email:

There is never a dull moment in the life of a state tax auditor.

Exhibit 1:
Josh's email informing me of the striking revelations made during the course of his daily routine:

"I found out I can make my stapler work on 15 page packets if I put my left hand on it and then hit my hand really hard with my right hand."

Much worse.

Okay, so where was I? Jazz Fest, that's right. Good times. And good music. I loved the broad spectrum of musical genres represented. It was fun to poke my head into the various tents to check out all the ethnic music, jazz, blues, and gospel. Saturday I had been looking forward to checking out The Roots and I wasn't disappointed. Their show had a fun, freewheeling feel that you can only get from a live band, a rarity in hip hop. They win Sara's award for Most Fun to Dance To at the festival. Okay, so I am a little biased since I've developed a soft spot for drummer ?uestlove. But how can you not love this mad lib thank you he wrote in the liner notes for The Tipping Point?

ahmir "?uestlove" thompson would like to send a special thanks to (insert your name here) for the following reasons. remember when (insert memory) when we (add verb and prepositional phrase) that last time? that was so friggin (adjective here). although it did worry me when you (place your character flaw that you are most in denial about that you know i secretly judge you on) but forget all that. even despite the fact that you (character flaw that both of us know you have) all the time when i frown upon it. i will say that i am so glad that we (whatever action course that brought us together like: business, dating, etc?)--because without that...we wouldn't still be down today...

Anyway, good times at The Roots' show. Hats off to G. Love & Special Sauce as well. Not only was their music fun and inspired, but also gloriously unclassifiable. Gets me every time. If you have no idea what genre to file an album in, the chances are quite good that I'll love it. Something wonderful happens when people are able to free themselves up enough to throw out all notions of what something is supposed be and just go for it. But I digress...

All in all, I would highly recommend The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival to just about anybody. The menagerie of food and music contains something to please just about anybody.

I've been away a long time. Away from the blog, anyway. I think that's because I've felt completely uninspired. Hopefully it's behind me now.

I spent almost a week in New Orleans at the Jazz and Heritage Festival. A more thorough description to come...