Gift From the Soda Gods

I was lunching at Five Guys today, the home of incredible burgers and huge amounts of fries.  I went with a small cheeseburger (one patty is good enough for me) with all the trimmings which later turned out to be amazing. As I was waiting on my food I went to get my drink and found this replacing the usual fountains:

'Oh wow', I said, 'what a cool product.'  It looks so shiny and you get a few more options than normal.  I touched the Coke button to go for normal Coke and that's when my surprise overtook me that I literally gasped.  After you choose a drink option it brings you to a new screen that gives you more options based on the drink you chose.  Want a raspberry Coke?  What about a peach Sprite, grape Mello Yellow or even a strawberry Fanta?  You can fill your cup with any of these options.  It can even give you a vanilla Barq's root beer and yes, it is everything you would imagine it would be.

This is Coke's flagship soda fountain named "Coca-Cola Freestyle" and is designed to give you over 125 drink combinations.  As a self-proclaimed soda addict, I was so mesmerized by the selection that i wanted to spend the rest of the day sipping the different variations.  I had to get my vanilla cola fix because it's been forever since I've had an official Vanilla Coke but I will be back soon to try out some more adventurous flavors. 

Man, I'm getting awful thirsty thinking about all the amazing drinks that can be had.  I'm gonna track something down...

This guy has a cool site talking about it as well.

Square One

I was perusing my notebook a few days ago and happened on an entry dated on the 1st of January.  Penned in blue ink it read, "Dear 2012, I'm gonna kick your ass."  I chuckled at the brazen optimism but then felt the melancholy for a forgotten thought and an unrealized goal.  Because as of yet, no part of 2012's ass has been kicked, much the opposite in fact.

It was just a couple of weeks ago that I was let go from my job of less than one year.  The reasons why I won't get into, but I will say that at the very end it did feel very mutual.  Sometimes things aren't always what they seem and a good thing doesn't always stay.  What's important is to know is that there are no guarantees and you should always know where the exits are at all times.

So this puts me back at square one in terms of life goals and aspirations.  I still have over a month left of the year, so my earlier declaration from before can still be accomplished, but the chances of this happening are very remote.  Instead, I should change my resolve to, "Dear 2012, I won't let you have the best of me."  This goal is much more manageable.

I've had some time to distance myself from the situation and in that time I've found some closure and acceptance.  If you are wondering if I've been going to any 12 step programs or reading up on the stages of grief, the answer is no.  I've just realized that distance can help you see things more clearly than before.  The situation I was in wasn't a change, it was just a continuation of several years of stress and monotony that I dealt with in my previous position.  It wasn't the same but it was far from different.

I'm staying positive which is the best thing I can do right now.  I think getting fired was a fantastic thing that  happened.  I have more time to focus on my writing which has suffered as of late.  Creative projects have always been important to me and I never seemed to have time or energy to devote to them this past year.  But what this job kept me from thinking about that was most important of all is school.  It has always in the back of my mind, yes, but it never seemed to get passed that point.

The place I had worked before this last job, I had worked there for over three years.  It was one of those places that had a ever sliding scope of favorability.  You thought that it was a fine job when you started but before you knew it, several years have gone by and the stress you experience there is enough to make you pop a blood vessel.  It was a time suck, a black hole where many a dream had died and I was thankful that I got out.  I didn't do it as soon as I should have.  The problem is that the job that took it's place was adding up to be the very same thing I had left.  It was filled with tedious situations and negative feedback that kept me from realizing my potential.

I know that no job is perfect and that there will always be people filling them that you might not be keen on, but what these two jobs had in common was that they kept me from wanting more.  I was content to go in every day, do what I was assigned to do and then go home, nothing more.  Much like how people stay in toxic relationships because the people are there, this job was there in a sense. And while it was there, so was  I, not thinking about my future.

But now I have an opportunity to think about my future.  It took me a long while to finally decide on something that has the right combination of what would pay well with what I would enjoy doing.  I believe patience has payed off in that respect.  I am excited about the prospect of going back to school and learning something important and then getting a career underway.  And that is the thing that I have always wanted, a career and not a job.  A job is something that you simply do, it doesn't feel permanent and it might not even contribute to you as a person.  But a career is something that you have, there is ownership in it and it becomes part of your personality.  It grows with you and the two of you can improve upon each other over time.  I've desired this for a long while and now it is finally time that I get it.

Life is filled with choices and divergent paths.  We might think that we know the end result but we can never know for sure.  It's said that the shortest way between two points is a straight line but life is never simple and who wants it shortened more than it already is?  I don't know how many times I've been wrong or how many times I've been right, but at this point it doesn't matter.  I just need to keep my eyes open and learn everything I can.  Being a student of life means being humble enough to see learning opportunities everywhere.  You might think you've graduated but as for me, class is just in session.

MPDGs and Me

Recently Ruby Sparks was released on DVD and Blu Ray.  It was a film that came out at the tail end of the summer and flew under most people's radar.  It starred Paul Dano and Zoe Kazan as well as being written by Kazan.  The real draw to the film was that it was directed by the crack husband and wife duo that brought us the fantastic Little Miss Sunshine, Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris.  This is only their second directorial work together and there was a lot of excitement around the film.  Many people were hoping lightning would strike twice and the magic that was Little Miss Sunshine would return.

The bar was set very high by Dayton and Faris and while most critics favor the movie I feel that they didn't quite cross a hurdle.  I do, however, find it a very interesting and engaging film, one with a story that poses a lot of questions regarding relationships with lovers as well as with our own subconsciousness.  That wasn't what drew me to it initially.  My curiosity stemmed from knowing that Ruby Sparks is a film that had one of the most blatant uses of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl to date.

The Manic Pixie Dream Girl, or MPDG for short, was a term coined by A.V. Club critic Nathan Rabin and is now used widely to describe the usually two-dimensional, female love interests that populate more and more movies.  By his definition they are "that bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures."  They are most certainly quirky, with little backstory and when they come into the life of the hero/protagonist, it is inexplicable why they fancy him in the first place due to his sad, morose nature.  But once the MPDG is in the protagonists life, his spirits are fully rejuvenated as she shows him a new side of life through spontaneous adventure.

Things don't always go well between the protagonist and the MPDG.  But whatever chasm that might grow between the characters matters little, because there is always a lesson to be learned by the protagonist in hopes that next time he will do better, act better and be better.

I know you're thinking of a few movie characters right now.  Sam (Natalie Portman) from Garden State, maybe even Claire Colburn (Kirsten Dunst) from Elizabethtown, but most certainly Summer Finn (Zooey Deschanel) from (500) Days of Summer and you would be right.  These are women who exist solely for the purpose of the men that desire them.  They act as muse, giving the hero back his confidence that has been lost.  By showing him an abundance of unearned but much desired for love and affection, the man discovers how great life can be and is able to conquer the obstacles that stand in his way.

Here's the thing, my true confession.  I adore Manic Pixie Dream Girls.  All those movies I listed are movies I love.  I even love Elizabethtown.  I don't even think Cameron Crowe likes Elizabethtown!  I harbor a deep fantasy of unexpectedly meeting a quirky girl who sweeps me off my feet and shows me the value of life through her spontaneity because I see myself as one of those brooding, sensitive and soulful young writers who is very guarded and needs a little push to open up.  I relate to these protagonists on a very deep level and I understand how bad this is.  Actually this is worse than bad, this is terrible.  I'm letting this much derided character model dictate my romantic desires and expectations while playing into the hands of these usually weak male characters.

Much can be said as why the MPDG archetype is damaging for all people and Ruby Sparks illuminates many of those points.  The film follows the life of Calvin Weir-Fields, a young novelist who wrote a highly acclaimed novel when he was nineteen, went on to fame and fortune but has slipped into a mindset that keeps him from writing.  It's the ten year anniversary for his novel, Heart Broken Old Times and everyone is excited about what he might write next.  He goes to therapy often to try to deal with his many emotional issues but he seems to find anxiety everywhere.  It is as if his block extends far past writing and into life itself.

His therapist issues an assignment hoping to shake him out of his current state.  He asks him to write a few pages about meeting someone.  That night he had a vivid dream where he was in the park reading.  A stunning red head comes up and starts talking to him about his dog.  They have a very strange conversation and upon waking, Calvin feels inspired and begins to write.  Excited about having a new project, he fills in more and more of this mystery woman's character.  He names her Ruby Sparks and sets her birthplace at Dayton, Ohio (because it sounds romantic).  He makes her to be a firecracker.  She got kicked out of High School because she slept with one of her teachers and he gave her a long list of past bad-boy boyfriends.

Eventually Calvin begins to find strange feminine items around his house like a woman's razor in his bathroom and colorful lingerie in his drawers until one morning he finds the woman from his dream eating cereal in his kitchen.  Horrified, he rushes out of the house thinking that he has gone insane.  Ruby soon finds him and that's when Calvin learns that other people can see her because she is a real person.  He literally wrote the literal girl of his dreams into existence.  They begin a whirlwind romance all dictated by Calvin as he continues to write his book.  All goes well until Calvin's feelings for Ruby begin to change.  Calvin must learn to love reality or he might loose Ruby forever.

As I watched the film I couldn't tell whether the filmmakers were unaware of how misogynist this all came off or if they were purposefully laying it on thick as to comment on the MPDG archetype. Calvin is a character that at times is so repugnant that sympathy for him is easily disposed of.  Despite his meek and bookish manner, he exhibits many domineering male characteristics that are shared with abusive partners.  He doesn't like Ruby leaving his apartment and he disproves of the idea of her getting a job.  He can also re-write Ruby's characteristics to his pleasing.  Twice Calvin made Ruby French and when she talked she mysteriously forgot the English language.

Now, it could be argued that this was part of the point.  As the film draws closer to the climax, Calvin makes small changes to Ruby in order to correct changes that he made previously.  In one almost disturbing sequence, Ruby is made never to leave Calvin's side after Calvin senses Ruby's desire to move on.  Ruby becomes a terrifyingly clingy girlfriend that can't deal with not being in contact with Calvin to the extent that she bursts into tears if he so much as gets up to answer the phone.  With each new change Calvin makes to Ruby, she becomes less desirable, and in effect less human.  There is something liberating about having him lose control of his fantasy, however I feel that this message is far more subtle than the one paraded through the rest of the movie of you gotta find a woman that you can change.

And that's at the heart and what is so disappointing in this film.  Ruby seems like a fun, smart and all around terrific girl who any man would be lucky to be with.  However she is not her own person.  She did not exist before Calvin and their relationship is an ever shifting kaleidoscopic of tropes and clichés because that is what is in Calvin's head at the time.  It's this reason that Ruby Sparks has become the Manic Pixie Dream Girl with the least amount of character because it's all Calvin's character.

I'm puzzled and slightly disturbed why Kazan has chosen not only to construct a character that is traditionally two-dimensional, but she also plays her in the film.  Has this largely male fantasy icon pervaded our culture to the extent that even women are now saturated with their personality traits?  Kazan has naturally denied all of this in interviews saying the term is better applied in a critical use more than a creative one.  I will giver her that.  But then she criticized the term for being diminutive and reductive, something that the character of Ruby Sparks definitely experiences in the film. Kazan has a strong disdain for the term of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl but the concept of her still abounds in the film.  In the end I will chose that she meant to comment directly on the trope whether it was a conscious decision or not.

What these movies tell you is that all your problems, shortcomings and failings make you endearing, desirable or otherwise ripe for nurturing and affection.  What real life tells you is that you can never be good enough for love.  You either don't look the part, make enough or say the right things.  Whatever it is, there is an equation to be found.  We are usually lacking in a few aspects and never seem to add up.  Failure is never fun and that's why it's rarely in our movies.  But failure is a part of life and life is much more than 120 minutes.  Why these characters are so attractive is that they are manifestations of the people that we want to be.  They are little more than distilled essences of our own traits and desires that become watered down when even a tiny bit of reality is applied.

The challenge at hand is to divorce my affection from these characters.  I realize that at the heart, these movies propagate an outdated male-centric worldview that's filled with flighty nymphs who pop in and out of existence, and yet I will still watch and love these movies.  They are filled with gag inducing clichés, I know, but I want these clichés in my life more than anyone! I will always see a possibility that a little bit of fiction will become my reality because I know that all fiction is based in reality.  We live life viewing only one perspective and the people around us are little more than characters in a story that can only be told by us.  So why not throw a little fantasy in the mix and have fun with life?  As long as I keep one foot on the ground, I should be fine.

Ruby Sparks got funnier on the second viewing, or maybe I just took it less seriously.  And maybe that's my take away lesson, don't be so serious.  People always tell you to be the person you want to attract, so maybe I should be a little more quirky, unpredictable and fun.  Who knows, I just might run into a Manic Pixie Dream Girl of my own.  I could be someone that she's not usually used to, she could make me an abundance of mixtapes and we could go off into the sunset on some cross country road trip.

Getting to New York (New York Adventures pt. 1)

I feel I should add something about how long this is taking to write.  I've been home for well over a month and I haven't yet begun to finish this yet.  In some way I want to apologize but I don't know who to if not to myself for not working harder.  The old adage of lying on your death bed and never thinking "I should have worked harder," is not always true.  If your work is part of your life, then yes, you could demand more of it.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy, please comment below.  

“I wandered everywhere, through cities and countries wide. And everywhere I went, the world was on my side.” 
― Roman Payne, Rooftop Soliloquy

When you make plans to travel, the point is to get away from your life.  Not life itself, but the daily trappings that you identify as being "your life."  While deep in the adventure you are well to learn that there is a world outside yourself, a world fortunately outside your imagination.  For if it were halfway conceivable there wouldn't be any reason to leave the confines of your tiny bubble at all.  The adventure should be the adventure, and all pretense of your old self might as well be left at behind.  By leaving all of that behind you'll be able to learn a second important point, that home is not such a bad place after all, that is until you have to go back there again.

I started out deliberately with adventure in mind when I set my foot forward to New York. I imagined that it was a place that could completely consume you whether you let it or not.  The old aphorism about being careful what you wished for comes to mind.  I've never had much luck with that, but in this case it worked for my boon as well my detriment.

The first leg of my journey took me from Asheville to Detroit.  I got to the airport with plenty of time to kill before my flight but I wasn't a hundred percent sure when that would be.  I was confused because throughout the day I had received a barrage of calls and emails informing me in changes to my itinerary.   Apparently, there happened to be some weather systems the prevented the planes to leave on time.  What wasn't so apparent was how late it made me for my connection because by the time I landed in Detroit and retrieved my bag, my flight to New York had already left the ground.  

Not worried, I found an attendant at a desk and told them my problem.  They looked up my information and told me that my flight was re booked for noon the next day.  "Oh, no," I said as I lowered my face into my hands.  "Is there any way I can leave sooner than that?"  I was told to go across the way to another service desk.  When I got there I was told the same thing as before and was promptly handed vouchers for food and lodging.  "Yeah, that's what I understand," I said.  I was shocked and a little heated but there was no way my trip was going to be delayed because of this.  I asked in the best tone of voice I could manage if there was anyway I could get a sooner flight?"  The attendant went to typing away at her keyboard.  "Would you be able to fly into LaGuardia?"  She asked.  "Absolutely," I said.  "I have a flight that's leaving really soon, you'll have to hurry," she said.  She then handed me my new boarding pass and told me where to find the gate.  

I was revealed and happy that I finally found a way to New York, but there was a problem.  I checked the time and the boarding pass.  I had approximately 12 minutes to get to a completely different side of the airport before the doors closed and I miss a second flight.

I cinched my bad close against my body, thanked the attendant and took off.  I began hustling through the airport as fast as I could manage although I was careful to pace myself.  I didn't know exactly how far I would be required to run.  Directions of where I needed to go echoed through my mind.  They made me hyper aware of my surroundings, conscious not to go down the wrong path.  I was constantly checking the passing gate numbers to ensure against that.  Stores and restaurants weren't whizzing like I would have wished but I felt I was making good time.

The moving sidewalks became my new best friends as they propelled me forward, giving me an extra boost.  I didn't use them to give me a breather, I had to keep going so I trudged forward faster than I could have gone alone.  Pain began to creep into my body.  I could feel a cramp swelling up in my stomach and my comically overstuffed bag was putting a strain on my shoulders as it shifted from one side of my body to the other.  More importantly the feeling of doubt and despair began to cloud my thinking, bringing my spirits down.  My body's energy was rapidly being depleted but I didn't give into the pain, I couldn't give into it.  I dug down deep into my final reserves and told myself I had no other option but to charge forward.

I finally made it to the line of gates I needed, but I still had a way's to go.  Ahead, there was another moving sidewalk and I positioned myself to take it but there was a couple several paces ahead that was languidly approaching it.  I gave my legs a burst of energy and cut closely ahead of them.  I needed this more than they did.

I looked around at the gates.  The numbers showed that I was getting close.  I could visualize the gate was right in front of me, all I had to do was get there.  I told my body to stay strong, that it didn't have long to go.  Before long I could see the gate in the distance.  The greatest thing was that there was a small crowd milling about around it.  I had made it!  I had ran all the way here, overcoming my aches before the plane left.  I was overjoyed.  

When I got to the gate attendant I handed them my boarding pass that I had been holding with a death grip.  It was wrinkled and slightly damp in places from my sweating.  I tried to be as honest as I could when he asked me how I was.  "Tired," was all I said with a grin.  I know he didn't hear me because I know that people like that don't care.  It wasn't his job to care, only his job to ask.

Once on the plane I longed for some A/C to cool me down and dry my sweat.  I made a call to my friend Stacey, who was already in New York to let her know about my travel changes and then sat back and relaxed.  I thought about the big city lives the people around me might have.  The man beside me had made a call to cancel his Friday reservation at a restaurant only to schedule another one on Sunday.  I made a sideways glance in his direction.  When he ended the call I was able to see his phone, the number 1 standing in solitude above the key pad.  Clearly he valued making reservations to restaurants more than any other communication, family included.

Such exciting lives they must have.  So electric and riveting, as electric as the lights that illuminated that great city.  When we finally neared the city, I pressed my face against the window, trying to make out features and breadth.  The plane's wing hindered my view and so I had to hold my head at an awkward angle, but I held it there anyway excited to see New York for the first time.  The vastsness of it all impressed me.  It was as if we were going over an endless field of Christmas lights.  I saw if I could make out anything familiar but all I could make out was a perfectly framed rectangle swathed in darkness.  That had to be Central Park, I surmised. 

We landed and I casually walked through the terminal still observing the people around me.  I must have been wide-eyed and amazed about where I was.  I finally made it to New York, living life among the bustle  and chasing after adventure.  It was as if this city was made for people like me, for the spirit I was seeking.  I wanted all of it, every last bit.

I met Stacey close to the exit where we had a satisfying reunion.  It had been a couple of years since we last saw each other, she being from the other end of the Country.   We left, chatting excitedly about our weekly planns as we bused closer toward the heart of the city.  

For those of you that have never been to New York and would someday like to go, get there any way you can.  Whether it is by plane, bus, or train.  The choice yours but know there is only one true option into the city I'd ever recommend, and that is the metro.  The two of us hurtled through the tunnels of the city, the subway car dense with people.  We swayed with every shift in the tracks, reflections of lights danced in the windows as we passed.  We got off at our stop and made our way upstairs.  The heavy humid air thinned slightly as we got closer to the surface.  We went though the turnstiles,  around the crowds of people, heading toward our exit.  Emerging, I was suddenly blinded by the sheer illuminated spectacle around me that was Times Square.  Lights flashed from every vantage point.  Gargantuan billboard's wrapped around skyscrapers were vying for my attention.  Sound; cars honking, people talking, yelling; seemed to mix with light for a distorting sensation.  Even the sidewalks sparkled.

We checked into our hotel and quickly dropped our stuff in our room and left.  I was eager to walk around and cut my teeth on the electricity of the night. I didn't want to waste one moment to comfort.  When you're in Rome you do as the Romans do, and when you're in the city that never sleeps, neither do you.

My first night was so enlightening.  We walked among the myriad of people and became acquainted with the stand-up comedy sales men that seem to be on every corner.  We even made friends with one.  He was pretty funny but we were disappointed to find that he wasn't one of the performers.  

My adrenaline high from traveling and seeing the city was fading just a little, reveling a hunger that could no longer be ignored.  Up until then I was surviving on half cups of soda and peanuts.  We decided that in honor of our first night in New York that it would only be fitting to commemorated it with a slice of New York pizza.

We walked further down 7th Avenue.  There were theaters and bars, and even a Sabarro.  I would think that they would be disgraced in a city with such a prestigious pizza pedigree as New York.  However, if Seattle can have a million Starbucks than New York can have a couple of Sabarros.  What we did find was Ray's Pizza, and what a find that was.  It turned out to be such a delicious slice of pie that hit the spot dead center.  I chose a slice that had a minimal amount of toppings.   The cheese was so scrumptious and the basil added to the character so well.  After I finished, I had to say, "Yeah, now that was New York pizza."

Once our wondering was done we went back to the hotel, content with our first night.  It was still hard to believe that I was in New York.  I parted the curtains, looking out at the bright, crowded view of the back side of a skyscraper.  Yep, I was here alright.  Living it up, living it well.

New York, will I love you?

I woke up today looking at my still empty bags. I know I should pack soon, but I need to do laundry first. I'll pack later, I tell myself. I look out the window instead. The morning sun has been diffused by a layer of fog, making everything milky and unknown. Tomorrow when I wake up I will be ready to board a plane where I hope to kickstart my adventure, taking a bite out of the Big Apple. I just hope I don't choke.

I've had the dream to see New York City for longer than I can remember. For me who has never experienced such an urban metropolis at this scale, New York holds a fantastical quality. I have this image of this landscape; buildings, apartments and skyscrapers, that go off into infinity. I imagine born and bred locals who have never even seen all of their city. I see a world removed from my reality, a world where anything is possible.

I made this trip co-inside with a concert by the Icelandic quartet Sigur Rós, a band who's music I nearly worship. The last time they had a tour that brought them to the States was in 2008 and of course, there were no venues even remotely close. I had a taste of what their live experience could be like when Jónsi, the band's singer, came to Moogfest to promote his solo project. It was such a affecting and magical performance that I vowed to myself that then next time Sigur Rós included the US in a tour, I would find a way to go. Seeing as it is now 2012 and the supposed end of the world, I better knock out two dreams at once.

What will I be doing there? A great friend of mine who has been to New York a couple of times will be accompanying me acting as tour guide. We're going to go sight seeing, attend a Broadway show, see the city from the vantage of the Empire State Building, peruse museums, have fun at Coney Island, watch Shakespeare In The Park, eat some traditional New York fare and many more adventurous activities. 

I hope I get lost, lost in the city, lost among the people. I hope I fall in love, transitory, fleeting, pining love. I want the City to teach me things about myself I could never learn anywhere else. I don't want be static, I want to keep going, running, doing. I want time to stop in the perfect moment where everything will be enlightened. And in that moment I want to realize everything that is good about the world. I might fall for the city, crush on the streets and towers. I might desire to be apart of the life blood that makes this magic work. I might never want to come home, and when time comes for me to depart, I might run from the airport and embrace my new home. You never know.

So this is what I will be doing for the next week. I'll keep you posted regarding my adventures. I promise you'll be on my mind during all of it. Wish me luck and bon voyage.

Now, where is that charger...

A Dark Night Has Risen

I'm just now waking up from a marathon showing of all three Nolan Batman films.  My friends and regular visitor's to this site know how much I love Christopher Nolan.  I knew my love for this third and last of his Batman trilogy would not be an exception.  I wanted to start by saying that I didn't know how to start, how conflicted I was.  I wanted to say how amazing and satisfying it all ended up being, but that it wasn't The Dark Knight, and somehow that didn't matter.  On this morning, I find myself still conflicted, but it's for a darker reason entirely.  I have woken to a string of news reports of a mass shooting at a theater in Colorado for a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises that have left about 15 dead and up to 50 wounded.

I'm conflicted about what this might mean for future midnight showings, I'm conflicted about how this might affect how we feel about this film.  Will this make it infamous?  Despised?  I am so sad for the victims, sad for their families.  These people didn't have to die.  Among the victims were teenagers and children, people that did no crime.  I try to imagine these people and I end up imagining myself.  These people had their life cut short against their will, they will never enjoy another movie again.

I find myself asking the usual questions.  Why did this have to happen?  What made the perpetrator so troubled?  Tragadies of this magnitude are so acute because these questions have no answer and therefore they can never be understood.  It's so natural to feel the need for vengeance but our frustration seems aimless.  We can't fathom the tragedy because the perpetrator is so far less than the crime that surrounds him.

I'm going to be honest.  My sadness and anger come from the fact that The Dark Knight Rises was truly a great movie.  It was just about everything I wanted this last Batman film to be.  Myself and a friend of mine had a fantastic time watching the entire trilogy in succession.  It was great to be part of all of that, brought together with fellow fans who shared a love for this film franchise.  All of this seems ruined.  All my pleasure that I have felt from these movies, the sense of community felt, gone.  It can never compare to the sense of loss that comes from learning that your son, daughter or friend has been killed, and I wouldn't want it to.  I am just expressing myself, expressing my sadness.

What has happened can't be undone.  My hope is that the victims and family's of victims can find the strength to move on.  If not now, then soon.  If not soon, then eventually.  I pray that justice will bring closure, and that this can make us all stronger.  And it this is what makes it so interesting because the most prominent themes of the films were of justice, revenge, closure and the humanity and faith in humanity we can lose when dealing with injustice.  Few are the times that we are confronted so earnestly with events of life by themes that we have just witnessed from art.

May our thoughts and prayers be with the victims.

mewithoutYou - Ten Stories

This last May saw the release of the fifth full length album Ten Stories from Philly's loudest poet-story tellers, mewithoutYou. It's quite a shame I just got around to picking up the album knowing that mewithoutYou has been a favorite band of mine for several years.  Back when I only had a couple of songs on a mixtape and first heard that yell hollered by Arron Weiss, I knew that they were unlike any band I had ever heard then, and really, since.

This angry sound has come to be known as the band's trademark.  Starting from their debut LP, [A to B] Life (2002), the music is very raw, tremendously loud and is the closest the band ever sounded to their hardcore cousins from the early aughts.  The guitars were thick with distortion, octave chords were plentiful, many songs had drastic volume dynamics and they even played around with simple time signature changes.  Wiess' vocals were the hallmark, setting mewithoutYou apart from other bands.  It was a mix of yell, scream spoken-word that was neither singing nor talking.  Combined with vivid lyrics that dealt with religion and heartbreak proved to be a very potent mix that could evoke strong emotions in any listener.

They further refined their sound with 2004's Catch for Us the Foxes, ratcheting down the noise but keeping their intensity. But it wasn't until two years later that the band struck gold with Brother, Sister.   This album showed mewithoutYou at their most mature.  Wiess' lyrics were more poignant and he exhibited more versatility in his voice with convincing singing.   The instrumentation was also more stout with the band reaching out into different styles.   The rock was still there but it was emphasized with a more talented band.   Even more, it was interlaced with folk interludes about a slowly aging spider that worked suprisingly well to create a rounded sound.

In 2009 mewithoutYou surprised its fan base with It's All Crazy! It's All False! It's All a Dream! It's Alright! which planted the band firmly in the Indie-Folk camp.   With the electric guitars being overcome by a chorus of acoustic guitars, accordions, harps and many other instruments, their rock seemed to be gone.   Aaron Weiss was not yelling anymore, so gone was their fire as well.   It seemed as if Weiss had turned a major corner in his life because the antagonism of the past had all but vanished. If I didn't know any better I might say that he was actually happy because that is what the music reflected.   The record seemed to surround itself with morality tales and fables staring animals inspired from writings by Sufi teacher Bawa Muhaiyaddeen. I found the beauty of the album but it wasn't easily won. I still find it the most difficult one to grasp from the band's catalog even though I consider it one of their best from a creative stand point.

It's from here that I thought mewithoutYou would draw their material for their fifth LP, Ten Stories.   I was partially correct, but still a surprise came with the opening of the first track, "February, 1878."  Gritty distorted chords move upward building tension until the band breaks in with Weiss reclaiming his trademark yell.   I was giddy, this was mewithoutYou returning to the sound that made them famous.  The song later mellowed out retaining some ominous overtones but there was no denying that this was mewithoutYou.

The energy held out on "Grist for the Malady Mill" with one of the catchiest pop beats that I have heard in a while.  It evokes past songs such as "A Glass Can Only Spill What it Can Contain" and even "The Dryness and the Rain" to an extent.

"East Enders Wives" is a short and melancholy song that focuses on a clean electric and acoustic guitar.  It doesn't have the impact of similar songs by them, though it is still very good.  My favorite line is the question, "Let's give up sacrifice next lent?"

"Cardiff Giant" provides the most fun you will ever have listening to a mewithoutYou song.  Echoing guitar chords propel the music forward during the verses while arpeggiated notes are played with perfect delay over a chorus of vocals that beg to be sung along with.  This song shows how much the band has learned since the last album.  Keeping the folky optimism but incorporating an amount of pop to keep the sound accessible.

"Elephant in the Dock" has the most engaging story on the record.  It's about an elephant being charged with a crime and being tried by a jury for it.  The elephant is brought before a crowd to be sworn in.  The elephant is rather obstinent because she declares, "I don't know anything about truth," and continues with the pointed statement, "but I know falsehood when I see it, and it looks like this whole world you've made."  The chaplian then interviens with a prayer until the crowd rouses together, "We must hang the elephant, must hang the elephant, must hang!"  The elephant has time to defent herself and choses to declare, "This mock trial can do no more to determine my lot, than can driftwood determine the ocean's waves."  The fate of this creature does not seem sure because after another chorus from the crowd to hang the elephant, the elephant's last words we hear are, "I feel it stealing now, all adrift fathoms down."

This song brings the overall arc of the record in focus.  It's about a circus train running through Montana.  While going through a snowy mountain pass, the elephant uses her strength to break the cage and derail the train, setting the rest of the animals free.  The album's songs tell the stories of the animal's fates and interactions.  Some had luck while others did not.

Ten Stories plays close to the sound of the last LP.  Sonically, it can be found between It's All Crazy... and Brother, Sister.  There are songs that ride the folk road and others that crank the gain knob, it has a fantastic mix.  Lyrically this isn't their strongest record with some songs being better than others but the standard set by mewhithoutYou has always been high.  I applaud the band for striving to keep consistent themes late in their career, this one completely being a concept album.  In the age of quick singles and the scavenger mentality (pick the best, leave the rest), it's great to know that there are bands that are keeping the spirit of the album alive.

From the opening moments to the grandiose closer, "All Circles", Ten Stories is a superb addition to mewithouYou's catalog.  I found it instantly accessible while the story arc will make for deeper study.  My recommendation is to go as soon as possible to your nearest record store and pick this release up.  While you're there, pick up some of their older albums as well.  Educate yourself.  Find out about one of the most creative and unique bands of the last decade.

"Night, the Different Painting" by Jonah Michea Judy

The acoustic guitar is quite an instrument.  An instrument in the most literal sense.  A means by which something is achieved, value determined.  The level of expression is matched only by the artist wielding it.  It draws a rather fine line however.  Not faint nor delicate, but fine.  One cannot hide insecurities behinds its naked sound.  They must be prepared to lay themselves bare if using it by itself.  Solo guitarists are easily written off these days, for good reason.  Few musicians can captivate an audience with their instrument alone.  This takes talent, true admirable talent.  One of the few musicians who I know have this talent is friend and musician, Jonah Micah Judy.


Recently I had a new, soon-to-be-released album sent to me by him.  I've been a fan of his music for as long as I've know him and I was eager to dig into his new offerings.  He has flown well under the radar, but that's not for lack of trying.  Spearheading several regional tours and releasing a small yet impressive body of work, Judy has done what it takes to be noticed.  This will be his third studio release (after 2007's Milk Sink and 2009's follow up EP Taste Escape) titled Night, the Different Painting.


The first song, "Lights Won't Quit" immediately hits me with a haunting nostalgia. the plucked notes below his strained voice together sound as if it came from a movie that I should have seen but never did.  It's slow and languid and yet possesses a pleading energy that urges the song forward, into the song as well as deeper into the album. 


"Under the Well" poses a shift with a startling introduction from Judy's deep baritone.  This is a song that get's darker with each listen.  I feel like I am the man under the well as I watch a shadowy figure far above singing this ballad whilst shoveling me with dirt.  The darkness doesn't end there.  On one of the latter tracks,  "Swine", Judy sings, "The pigs I've known are good enough to eat there own."  With his tongue firmly in his cheek, Judy then continues by singing the chord structure of the song, "C, E, A.  C, E, G."  It's between the suspicion that there is more to this and the unease you feel from Judy's whistling in the middle of the song, you find something that you can't put your finger on, something that raises the hair on the back of your neck.


His skill for mood approaches his prowess on the guitar.  "Selu" begins with a serpentine chord structure, relying on  droning harmonics.  Then there is a shift.  Simple arpeggios aggregate together with light flourishes and those same drones until there is another shift.  Judy then sings against the hurried plucking highlighted by simple notes that move up.  The bars evoke the great piece "Suite Española" by composer Isaac Albéniz, made popular for guitar by Andrés Segovia.  Judy doesn't match the speed or urgency of this suite, but the simultaneous plucking of fast and slow notes is not something you hear very often on solo singer/songwriter records.

The thing that I've loved most about Judy's music is his guttural, primal growl.  His voice can dig out a deep aggression that makes us feel at our most animalistic.  One can find this style in much of modern Hard Rock music but an unlikely paring can be found in the diminutive accoustic guitar and a murderous howl.  When your words are paved with gravel on top of a base already at its limits, no one can deny you.


Judy reaches this best on the song "The Uncany Indifference."  Dissonant chords resonate harshly until the vocals kick in.  Instead of letting his voice become a shriek, he keeps it carefully controlled in its chaos.  By doing so, he retains the lower registers of his voice, keeping it's power.  Even at the climax of the song, when he allows those notes to turn upward into an actual shriek, that force is still there.

I must remark that that Judy has never sounded better than what he does here.  The true intention of his sound can be realized.  Milk Sink possessed brilliant songs but the production edged on the buzzier side with hallow overtones.  Night, the Different Painting is clear and  warm.  Michea strikes an almost perfect balance between his voice and his instrument.  I was able to ask him what his goal is when crafting a sound in the studio.  He said that he always wants to represent as true as possible the live experience.  Over the years I've been privileged to listen to him play in intimate settings.  When listening to this record I feel like I'm next to him as he plays.  I would say this, then, is the achievement of his vision.

The only qualm I have is with the song "Gunpowderlegs."  It's the only song on the record played on the electric guitar.  The distortion is dirty, his voice is growling and the formula is such to make for a solid rock song.  Ironically, by itself , the tone of the guitar doesn't provide enough power to feed the aggression that the song deserves.  I believe the effect would have been best achieved had Michea stuck with his acoustic but played the life out of it.  And yet, I keep coming back to the song.  A testament to the fact that there is something here, something worth listening to.


What Jonah Michea Judy has given us in Night, the Different Painting (Disk 1 of 2) is his most fully realized and well-rounded album yet.  What his has accomplished is proof that he is ready for a larger audience.  His solid songwriting and deft handling of varying acoustic and vocal dynamics makes him very interesting to listen to and should earn a permanent place on your iPod.  He is an artist you should put on your radar and track carefully.

Jonah Michea Judy is on Kickstarter.  Donate today to help his projects.

This American Life Re-Affirms itself as the Greatest Thing Ever

This last Thursday saw the third wide release of a live showing of This American Life to movie theaters across America and Canada.  Normally a radio show hosted by the legend Ira Glass, This American Life has been perfecting its trademark style for almost two decades now.  Mixing news, current events, humor and touching human interest pieces, This American Life has always set its sights wide.  When given the opportunity, however, Glass and company will pull out the stops and do something extraordinary and unique.  I was able to see the live show that premiered in 2009 where the curtain was pulled back a little, shoing how the show actually worked...sort of.  Three years later, we get another one, and it is bigger and better then ever before.

I love This American Life more than almost any other form of entertainment in my life.  I once fell in love with a girl I think because she told me that she too loved This American Life.  It didn't work out and I learned that even This American Life isn't big enough to base a relationship on.  Needless to say, it's at the top of my "list of favorite things".  Many people have a private affection for specific things.  We enjoy them by ourselves, at our own terms.  It's on rare occasions that you get to share this enjoyment with others who feel the same way.  Walking into the theater, I got that feeling.  These people are the faces of public radio, I said to myself.  They are true fans of This American Life, the ones willing to shell out a hefty amount for a ticket to this thing.  These are my people.

I'll get it out of the way right now, the show was incredible.  More than incredible, stupendous.  More than stupendous, monumental.  Yes, it was quite good.  It was different than last time.  For one, gone was Ira Glass's classic desk, covered in radio equipment; Glass monitoring switches, queuing samples and all the rest that a radio host must do.  Glass this time around played the part of a sleek MC, doing all that he did last time from an iPad.  Some of the samples didn't respond in time and he make the remark, "As you all know, I don't have the best relationship to Apple Products," to great laughs (recently, proving there is a first time for everything, TAL had to completely remove an episode from its archive and air basically a 60 minute apology after discovering that the primary contributor for that episode falsified many of his claims).

The theme was "Making the Invisible Visible" and dealt with stories involving loss of sight, being forgotten, ignored and other things that you just can't do on the radio.  It started out on the bright side of things, feeling more like a stand up comedy special rather than a public ratio production.  The first two stores were from author Ryan Knighton and comedian Tig Nataro. Knighton told stories about his blindness and the challenges of being a blind father.  Nataro had quite possibly the funniest routine of the evening.  She told a story of meeting her music idol, Taylor Dayne on repeated occasions and the different outcomes that occurred.  By the end of it I was in tears from laughing so hard.  We were then surprised by an actual performance by Taylor Dayne herself.  I believe that even Tig Nataro, herself, was surprised because it was written all over her face during the song.  She looked touchingly awkward on stage as Dayne sung.  She looked like she just didn't know what to do and even, in a last ditch effort, pulled out a Michael Jackson dance move a couple of times.

This wasn't the only music of the evening.  There were some dace numbers from the Monica Bill Barnes Company and a performance by the band OK Go.  The later was very impressive and innovative.  The band, in conjunction with This American Life, developed a phone app just for this event.  The app has three large buttons with different shapes on them that plays bell-sounding tones when pressed.  When opened, the app appears in a random color, corresponding to different notes.  The goal was to get the audience to play with the band as they played a song of theirs on hand bells.  There was a Guitar Hero-esque staff off to the side that scrolled down.  The audience was to pay attention to their color and play the notes that appeared.  Even the non smart phone toting members (or smart phone toting members that didn't download the app) were included.  They provided the percussion with stomps and finger snaps.  It was a great idea, unfortunately I don't think the audience that I was apart of was very enthusiastic about the whole thing.

We were treated to a short film written and directed by comedian, author and This American Life alum, Mike Birbiglia.  It stared himself and Fresh Air host, Terri Gross.  While Birbiglia starred himself, Gross played a spoofed version of herself, one that is always seems to be "on the air," asking those classic questions of hers whether she's behind the mike or not.  It was very entertaining and worth the watch.  You too can watch it here.

The evening soon started to feel more like This American Life with the inclusion of some more introspective stories.  Glynn Washington, host of the NPR show Snap Judgement told an experience of when he was young and spent the night with his family praying against the unseen power of the Devil after "witching a well."  Another was a story about an all but forgotten photographer, Vivian Maier and John Maloof, the man who discovered the thousands of brilliant negatives that had never been seen by anyone other than Maier.  Her photographs were arresting, showing an unparalleled intimacy and deep, innate understanding of the medium. She was reclusive and impersonal but took her camera everywhere she went, snapping quick photos of life around her.  Because she was so private, her photos were never shown, the quality never known.  When she died they might have been lost forever had they not made their way to an auction where Maloof bought them for about $400.

The story asked the question, should an artist's wish of having their work be kept from public knowledge be honored even after death?  The comparison was made to Emily Dickinson, who made the request to her sister to burn her poems when she died.  I understand the sentiment of ownership, but where would we be without "I Heard a Fly Buzz When I Died."?

The last of these thoughtful stories came from a This American Life favorite, David Rakoff.  Viewers could notice how Rakoff came onstage, using only his right hand while his left was stuffed in his pocket.  He told about a recent surgery where the doctors had to sever a nerve in his arm.  The surgery freed him from tremendous pain but left him without the use of the arm for the remainder of his life.  His story was classic Rakoff, bitingly sardonic and yet it had enough heart to make you grin in commiseration.  He recalled his younger days as a dancer.  He wasn't good enough to make a career from it, but it was a part of his life for a long time.  When he go older, it was one of those things that had to be let go.  You could tell that he longed for his younger days as he described how a piece of music could induce a kind of trance where your body could be lost to the rhythms.  He pretended to become overcome with emotion as he excused himself to quickly leave the stage.  Suddenly music started and he stopped and then proceeded to preform a dance number.  Was it clumsy?  Yes, but was it touching and heartfelt? Absolutely.

To close the evening was another fan favorite, David Sedaris. To fulfill the requirement of "things you can't do on the radio," Sedaris came onstage completely covered in clown makeup and wearing a cartoonish top hat.  If you were already a fan of Sedaris, or at least familiar with his work then you knew what you were in store for.  A sarcastic and hilariously dry tale of being ignored in line at a coffee cart while the couple ahead of you are shamelessly oblivious to how annoying they are at taking their time.  It was short, but truly, truly sweet.

And that was it.  In 2009 I didn't think that I would have ever seen one of these again but here I am, raving just as much as I did last time.  I think I may be expecting these ever few years now, though I honestly don't know how Glass & Company can top this performance.  It really had everything that you could ever ask for.
For those of you that are reading this before May 15th, 2012, you're in luck 'cause there will be an encore showing at many of the same theaters that showed it Thursday.  Click here to get tickets.

Doctor, I think I got the Shakes

Have you lost your faith in music?  You think there's nothing new that can make you feel anymore?  I recommend getting a prescription for the Shakes, the Alabama Shakes that is; the newest band to pound the pavement with their brand of sultry, Southern Soul.

I first heard about the Alabama Shakes when they were guests on the Sound Opinions podcast.  The past few weeks I've been indulging in my newest obsession, podcasts.  Now, I've been a devoted fan of the medium for several years, This American Life has been a weekly (or more) ritual for close to seven years now.  Recently, I've discovered several pop culture and film themed podcasts that I've been listening to as fast as I can download them.  This has cut into my music listening considerably.  This includes listing to the Sound Opinions show, because they focus on music news and review new music.  Preferring the discussion between a few people to the sway of a rhythm is something new for me, but that's just where my tastes lie right now.

This last week I decided to give the film talk a rest and see what was new with my good friends Greg Kott and Jim Derogatis as they interviewed this band who I was totally unfamiliar with.  Their first song, "Hold On", didn't take me by surprise but it did grow on me.  The band had a thick and mellow instrumentation but it was the singer, Brittany Howard, who made me perk up my ears.  Her huskey croon was very mature and so unique to hear.  It was equally satisfying when it was reeled in or pushed to the max.  By the end of the song I was hooked.  By the end of their set I was a fan.  Jim Derogatis's reaction after the last tone sounded was, "Yikes!"  The song was "You Ain't Alone."  Howard's voice was like a freight train, unstoppable and equally as moving.

I knew I had to get a hold of their record, Boys & Girls, and as soon as I did I knew it was going to be one of the best of the year.  It opens up with "Hold On", and this time I appreciated it for the modern classic that it's destined to be.  Howard pleads during the chorus to "hold on."  Is she begging for herself or is this for our benefit?  The guitar licks on this song, provided by Heath Fog, are so simple but work so well.  They move the listener through the song like boat on a river, the high notes like peaks on mild, choppy waves.

It's followed by a track that is so seeped in the feel of old Soul Blues you'd think that it was pulled directly from a scratchy 45.  "I Found You" is one of those rare songs works well for both slow and fast dancing, lending itself to any moment that arises.  Howard sings of how long we've traveled and waited just to find that certain person and what that person does to change our life.  Such a familiar subject to us all.

The third song, "Hang Loose" rolls in with a groan like it was started from a dead stop on a turntable.  The groove is undeniable and this is by far the catchiest song on the record.  It's pure pop, but there ain't nothing wrong with that.  A sprinkle of sweet goes a long way to make this a great listen.  The main riff will get stuck in your head for days and Howard's cries on the chorus make it more meaningful than your standard pop hit.

I could go on or I could wrap this up so that you can go pick this up.  The entire album plays out like the first three tracks; simple, soulful and straight to the matter.  It's rare for me to find music that instantly hits me at my core.  Usually it takes me a few spins to really get into an album.  Brittany Howard's voice and the instrumentation by Fogg, bassist Zac Cockrell and drummer Steve Johnson swirl together for the perfect combination of music so accessible yet so affecting.  Whatever your format you prefer, whether it's CD, vinyl, MP3, legal or illegal, you have to get this ASAP.

Community is back, at long last.

I feel fantastic. The past couple of weeks have been some of the best in a long time. God has recently blessed me with just one thing that I have asked for, the return of Community. The last time that you caught up with me I was in the throes of sadness as Community was literally ripped from NBC’s Thursday night schedule and put on “hiatus.” With almost no warning, myself and thousands of others lost what brings them so much joy from week to week. If that wasn’t bad enough, we weren’t even given a firm date as to when we could expect it’s return. There were even rumors that it would even be canceled outright. With two (and a half) seasons and a movie to go until its goal, Community was definitely in a dire situation.

And yet, we survived. More importantly we prevailed. We lived our Community-less lives enduring painful and sometimes humorless blocks of Must See TV. We cursed Whitney and its proprietors. Why couldn’t she have gotten the ax? But most of all, those cherished box sets of the first two seasons found new life as our only connection to what we love.

After the pain lessened and a scab had formed, the time had come to let our voices be heard. Just cause our show was gone didn’t mean we had to shut up about it. We filled forums with our rants, speculations and pleading. Todd VanDerWerff, of the A.V. Club even posted the address of the most useful NBC associate to send a letter of protest to, if so inclined. But mostly this down time gave us time to regroup, as fans, and encourage others to check out the show, to proselytize, if you will. I did more than my part, to a few of my friend’s detriment. Hopefully we convinced a few people how enriching Community can be. What I know now is that our community (pun very much intended) is stronger than ever.

Perhaps they’re bringing it back just to keep us quiet (their error, this is just going to make us louder than before) or perhaps we convinced someone, or someones to give in and give us what we want. Whatever the reason, we are getting it back and how happy this makes me. At the time of this writing, there are only 21 hours, 26 Minutes and a handful of seconds to wait until we can laugh again. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready.