LUNCH WITH THE BEATLES

The thing I enjoyed most about going back to school in the fall as a kid -- well, the only thing I enjoyed, honestly -- was going "school shopping" with my mom about a week or so before I was due back in class. There were only two times a year that we would reliably go clothes shopping: in September to stock up for the essentials to wear to get me through the long winter and the muddy spring, and then right after school let out in late May or early June for summer gear. The fall shopping run was exciting, usually a full day at the Brookfield Square mall, which included a stop for lunch at Woolworth's for a patty melt, fries, and a chocolate malt, and then back to business. I loved it. It was fun to look at all the pretty clothes. (I may remind you that in the '60s we girl children weren't allowed to wear pants to school unless the temperature was below zero. Yes, this was a public school.) I liked the clothes, the shiny new shoes, and the pencils, and the paper, and the tiny scissors, and the pink erasers, all of it.

In 1968 as I was getting ready to begin 1st grade, one school purchase was more important than any other: the lunchbox. Everyone had a lunchbox. Well, 99% anyway -- the kids with the brown paper bags...man, that was sad because there were SO many COOL lunchboxes! Your lunchbox was your identity; it told the other kids who you were, what you liked the MOST. I never figured out the kids who showed up with the "plaid" lunchbox. I had never had a lunchbox before, and as I faced the huge display at JC Penneys, I didn't know how I was ever going to be able to make a decision. Here were some of my choices then:

Sister Bertrille was cool...

A LOT of people had this one...

Oh, I LOVED Laugh-In...

...but not so much Major League Baseball or Chuck Connors...

Star Trek? Land of the Giants? Get Smart?

No, not you.

As soon as I spotted IT...my choice was EASY. BOOM! That one, I said to my mom, that's the one I want. A crazy-looking psychedelic metal box, made by Thermos, that read "The Beatles Yellow Submarine," which was their new animated film due out later in the fall. That's IT. And I still have it.

Hmm...does it seem to be...missing something there? NAH! OF COURSE, I still have the thermos!

I was so proud to carry that, and did so every day. It's not in too bad of shape, considering. I swear to you that it came with a little card, a sort of pen-and-ink outline of the characters on the box with corresponding numbers that said who they were. I don't have it, and have never seen it mentioned or for sale since. It's possible I could be confusing it with the back of a cereal box or some other thing (there were lots and lots of "Yellow Submarine" promotional items that fall), but still...it made sense for a card to be included because the film hadn't been released yet (it was in the UK that July). How else would I have known what a Blue Meanie was?

The only tragedy that befell my beloved lunchbox was the one day in the Cushing Elementary School cafeteria when I dropped the thermos and the interior insulating glass shattered. Horror!! But my mom packed it up and sent it back to the Thermos company, who replaced the glass and it stayed intact forevermore. Thank you, Mom. So much from my childhood wasn't saved, but this was.

I carried the Yellow Submarine box for all my elementary school years until middle school, when the "cool" way to bring in your lunch now was -- of course -- in a brown paper bag.

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WANT TO LOSE WEIGHT IN 2011?

I've got your answer. Find a partner, and practice the Lindy Hop just like this from the 1941 film "Hellzapopppin'" everyday for a year. I guarantee that by the end of 2011 your BMI will be like, I dunno, 1 or something. I think you could consume Super Extra Big Giant Value Pack Meals at McDonald's and still stay skinny. I think you could shove a baker's dozen of doughnuts down your gullet with a ramrod every 15 minutes and still stay skinny. I think you could drink the deep-fryer grease from every KFC in a 50-mile radius DAILY and still stay skinny.


 
But if you don't want to do that, you can listen to So So Glos "Lindy Hop" and look at a picture of a unicorn against a raging sunset from last night. I'm not sure you'll be able to get away with the doughnuts, though.

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COLD CHILLIN’, HOT AS HELL: X LIVE IN SEATTLE NEW YEAR’S EVE 2010

Twenty-seven years. T-w-e-nnnn-t-y s-e-vvvvvv-en years. I tried to knock the reality of that number into my head, the weight of such a chunky hunk of time, and in this case I kind of failed. The fact remained that it had been 27 years since I had seen the band X, arguably the finest American punk band, perform live. How these things happen I don’t know, for their show that I saw in Chicago in 1983 was one of the very best of the best I have seen of any genre. I recall that I had worn some sort of sparkly go-go outfit, planted myself smack dab in front of vocalist/bassist/guitarist John Doe, and danced myself into a soaked sweat, smiling and screaming and pounding my hands on the stage. I must’ve looked particularly crazed (and at a punk show that is saying something) because at the end of the set, John Doe reached down to me and shook my hand, shook his head with a huge grin and said, “Thank you!” I grinned back, shook his hand a little sheepishly, and replied, “Thank YOU!” That moment, and that whole show, man…my pleasure, my good luck.

There was nothing save some kind of major disaster (and probably not even that) that was going to keep me from seeing X play at Seattle’s venerable Moore Theater on New Year’s Eve. Oh babies, listen to this: we were gonna get a showing of the fantastic 1986 X documentary “The Unheard Music” PLUS ALL of X’s 1^st album “Los Angeles” performed live, PLUS another set of “greatest hits!” YES, I’LL BE THERE. Tickets BOUGHT. I became downright giddy when I received word that I would also be able to have a photo pass for the show. I may have danced a jig or performed some other cultural expression of joy, I’m not sure. Holy crap! X!

New Year’s Eve arrived and I got to the Moore slightly after doors opened and was told by two nice security folks that the photo pass was not limited to the usual “first three songs only” rule. What??? WOW! Cool! And I was given two free tickets! Aw! Now that was very nice too; I didn’t even ask for them. And to make things even impossibly cooler, what did the band have playing over the Moore PA as we waited for the movie to start? “The Kinks’ Greatest Hits!” Right??? Even COOLER, but not in the good sense, was the frigid temperature inside the Moore itself. I ain’t kidding, people left their winter parkas, hats, and gloves on. A security person explained it was the fail of the old radiator heat system. For this special evening only, the Moore was allowing alkiehaul and such into the theater instead of just the bar and lobby. I nursed my freezing fingers and lingering cough/fatigue with a coffee instead. I am BEING HERE.

Film fans, music fans, make a point of seeing or re-seeing “The Unheard Music.” It is so well done and is interesting even if you are unfamiliar with X. There are lots of performance clips and some quite funny and touching interview pieces -- the energy just jumps off the screen. Throughout the showing of the film, the Moore audience was laughing and clapping after songs, cheering for the band, booing the clueless record company/ AOR radio clods that ended up choking their own old-style music business to a miserable death. Watching the movie again reminded me about some of the severe frustrations of being a performer or fan of any kind of music that was considered outside the mainstream then. Getting X played on anything but college radio was hopeless, and if you weren’t on the radio, you weren’t selling records. MTV came into play, but X was shuttled for the most part to the once-weekly “120 Minutes” show. The only thing to do was to try to keep playing, and hope that word-of-mouth and good critical reviews would change things.

Clip from "The Unheard Music"

The film also reminded me why X was/is so great. All three guys – Billy Zoom on guitar and grin, DJ Bonebrake on drums, and the aforementioned John Doe – are truly skilled and knowledgeable musicians. “Punk” really isn’t a broad enough term to cover what they do; it’s not accurate or fair to lump them in with any kind of idea of thrashing incompetency (although I like that too). No, these guys can play pretty much anything and really well, too. You can hear their love of all kinds of music in what they do. All of them were listening intently to records and the radio, practicing for hours…you just know it. So X had a rock-solid foundation, but what made them absolutely unique was singer/lyricist Exene Cervenka. Her untrained voice in combination with the strong, smooth Doe’s made for an almost Appalachian/bluegrass-style dissonance that let you know right away that this was no other band. Cervenka’s multilayered vintage/punk mess look was her own and very influential, her words poetic and honest. Put it all together, the musicianship and the influences and the style and art and blasting energy, and you’ve got something important.

The movie ended, the screen was taken down, and the Moore audience was ready to rock. I took up my position with Big Camera and waited, all excited and happy. All around me, there were a lot of gray heads; yesterday’s punks, today’s grandpas and grandmas. It didn’t matter, because as they stood next to the kids too young to have seen X play before, age just goes away. You are all there for the music. And here we go…Billy Zoom’s legendary Gretsch Silver Jet arrives onstage, then he does, then Bonebrake, Doe, and Cervenka, and they go right into “Your Phone’s Off the Hook, But You’re Not.” YES!

After the third song, “Soul Kitchen,” oh SHIT. I got the “tap.” “You gotta stop shooting now, that’s it!” said this other security guy. “But I was told that…!” “Nope! Out!” Oh, well, that’s OK, whaddya gonna do. I’m just happy to be there. So I move away, shut down Big, and take out Leetle Camera and continue on dancing and shooting. MAN! Everyone is dancing and nodding and just happy as hell. The band is tight, confident, and also seems happy as hell. John Doe could not have been more gracious in acknowledging the crowd, thanking them repeatedly for coming, for being there, for still being there, really. It makes me kind of emo, because you know he knows…it’s a true privilege to play music for people, and especially people who have hung in there with you and love you. And of course we know how great it is to hear it.

X, “The Hungry Wolf” – Moore Theater, Seattle WA 12/31/10

Why is it that the 27 years in this case just didn’t seem that long ago? Why wasn’t I ever thinking, oh man, I wonder if they’ve held up, wonder if they’ll be all jaded like so many others? I never thought these things for a second. I knew that they would be just as good as I remembered them to be in 1983. I just knew it, and they were. We all look a little different, but our hearts and the things that are important are exactly the same. X put on a superb show at the Moore. They are the real damn deal; hot as hell. I didn’t shake John Doe’s hand this time. I think I might’ve burst into big giant baby nostalgia tears at his big smile, 27 years on.

(More photos are here.)

Thank you a million times over to the Moore, Melissa Dragich, Steve from Porterhouse Records, and of course X for another memorable night.

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BLOTTER 16

As we see out 2010, let us be thankful that we are none of these people or the people who had to deal with them. WOO HOO! Police Blotter Time! Happy 2011, everyone!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, SON!

Order violation: A Kirkland woman reported that her ex-husband had given their five-year-old son a dead turkey head. The woman said that the turkey head was intended for her and her boyfriend. The woman also reported that the husband had violated several restraining orders. Police attempted to contact the 46-year-old man and could not. The woman said that she is afraid for the safety of her son. The ex-husband was eventually contacted and arrested.

AND…VOILA!

Assault: A 44-year-old Redmond man was arrested for assault after he reached down the pants of a 18-year-old female victim and pulled out her underwear. The suspect was a stranger to the victim.

SURE

Mental: A Kirkland woman wanted to report the death of several animals that she had found on her property. The woman then started rambling about the coyote that probably killed the animals. It appeared that the woman might be suffering from other issues. She recently went through a divorce. She was provided with some resources that could help with her situation.

Reckless: Men with beards were seen driving recklessly on Highway 2 East.

Breaking and Entering: A Hungry Horse resident claimed that while her 10-year-old son was home alone, three teenage girls broke in and smoked cigarettes.

Suspicious: A woman made a late night report regarding her date with a “creepy” guy who managed to put down an entire “cold pack” of Mountain Dew that night.

Abuse: A Whitefish resident called in to discuss an incident that occurred 25 years ago where, reportedly, all the boys in a church were put in a kennel during the service.

Mental: A man on Highway 35 called in concerned that his phone had been tapped and that “mechanical dogs” may be watching him.

Nuisance: A resident of an apartment on Highway 35 reported that the untagged, rotting dead deer “sitting up at a table” near the door is starting to stink.

Mental: A man wearing all black and standing in the middle of Highway 35 was pronounced a road hazard.

Animal Control: Someone from Columbia Falls claimed they saw a Shetland pony “chewing” on a llama that was possibly dead. The llama, however, was not dead, but alive and playing with the pony when the animal warden arrived.

Public Urination: A Columbia Falls resident complained that their dad regularly urinates on the property.

IN THAT ORDER?

Harassment: A Mercer Island man, 28, who plays basketball in a Stroum JCC league was harassed after a game by an angry opponent who made threats to injure, kill and start a fight.

PUSS N’ BOOTS CRIME

Car prowl: A new pair of boots was stolen out of a car at a residence in the 4400 block of Ferncroft Road sometime overnight. An unknown suspect broke the rear passenger door window of the vehicle, a BMW. The boots were black leather, over-the-knee.

JETSETTER CRIME

Theft: Items were stolen from Finders on S.E. 27th Street during open business hours on Dec. 4. The shop owner reported the theft at 10:03 a.m. Stolen items included a "Travel in Italy" book, a royal blue knitted beret, a necklace with gold links and pearls, and a large black Baggallini purse. There are no suspects in the case.

CRIMINAL COMEDIAN

Burglary, Vandalism: On Dec. 13, sometime between 3 and 7 p.m. a house on the 8000 block of 45th Ave SW was burglarized. The unknown suspect(s) broke down two south-facing doors to gain entrance and stole $50 in silver dollars and a safety deposit key from the victim’s bedroom. The suspect(s), unable to find more loot, wrote, “You need more (expletive) to steal,” on the wall of a different bedroom.

HIS NAME SHOULD HAVE BEEN “BAKE”

Theft: Police cited Nathaniel Blake, 50, of Milwaukee, for theft after he stole an aluminum bakery cabinet from behind Sentry, 3255 Golf Road, on Dec. 11.

KARMA CRIME?

Vandalism: Someone damaged the door handle at the back of What Comes Around Goes Around, W230 S8725 Clark St., during the evening hours of Oct. 15.

DRUNK AND…DRUNK

Drunk, Disorderly: A woman on Van Zandt Drive reported that an unidentifiable intoxicated man with a dog was rummaging around her car, banging on her door, cussing and threatening to kill her. When deputies arrived, she realized the man was her boyfriend. Deputies gave the man a ride home.

Drunk: An intoxicated Bigfork man was arrested after abusing household furniture and fighting with his brother.

SANTA?

Assault: A woman near West Glacier claimed that after she yelled at her neighbor to get off her property, he tried to run her over with his snow blower.

GOOD TO KNOW

Suspicious: A Ridgewood Drive woman reported that her ex-boyfriend called and claimed he would be driving his vehicle through her house in 10 minutes. She also said he has a history of ramming vehicles through the homes of his exes.

And finally…

MAYBE THE COW WANTED IT BACK

Burglary: A woman returned home from work to find her living room window open. She entered the house and noticed blood on the floor. The blood trail led her to the kitchen and then to the fridge to discover that the burglar had stolen five pounds of beef. Officers were unable to find usable prints at the scene and there is no suspect in the case.

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MY SECOND DAY IN BED WITH KEITH RICHARDS

Going for a rock n’ roll spin on the common virus, I decided to deal with almost-post-illness fatigue today by finishing up Keith Richards’ autobiography that I started yesterday. Read, nap; nap, read; shower, nap, read, eat something, write up what I thought about Life.

First off, a standing ovation to James Fox, the writer who had the tenacity and talent to take hours of taped interviews he did for this book with Richards over a period of five years into a very readable and entertaining overview of the Rolling Stone’s life. The style of the writing remains solidly true to Richards’ cadence and personality, not diluted at all by the necessary organization and added clarifying details. It easily could have been a book filled with one “war hero” story after another, focusing too much on the prurient, violent, or vague memory. Instead the timeline of Richards’ life flows well, the stories are pinned down by places and dates and inset commentary from others who were also there. It helps to sort out some of the material that keeps coming up, like all those pesky hotel/home fires and drug busts.

You might find it unexpected that the most interesting parts of the book occur before and after Richards’ very long struggle with hard drugs. I know there are readers out there who will be looking for the dirt and misery that arose from Richards’ legendary addiction years, and there’s plenty of it. But unless you are another junkie, junkie stories get old fast. For years, the real focus of his life was not music, money, friends, family – it was how to score the next fix and the glorious, meticulous routines that go along with any kind of habit. Richards’ still speaks of those days in incredible detail, the passion and longing for the purest, greatest high still there, although he has been off hard drugs for many years now. He repeatedly says he would never, ever recommend heroin to anyone and I believe he is sincere…but the reverent tone he has in discussing the merits of pharmaceutical-grade, top-shelf drugs unfortunately could lead someone to think otherwise. There is quite a list as the story goes along of Richards’ friends who don’t survive, much less end up thriving as he did. They stack up, quietly.

And those aren’t the saddest figures in the book, because in the end junkies off themselves by their poor choices. The ones you feel for are Richards’ three children by model/actress/scenester/fellow addict Anita Pallenberg, subjected to what was a pretty appalling lifestyle. After son Tara died of SIDS at two months of age, daughter Angela was given up to Keith’s mother Doris to raise permanently, but oldest son Marlon was retained, shuttled from decrepit place to decrepit place. It makes the reader cringe to read Richards’ recount of having the 7-year-old boy with him on tour, surrounded by drugs and syringes, handguns, junkies, freaks, gangsters, you name it, responsible for “waking Dad up” to go onstage. Later, the child witnesses the suicide of his mother’s 17-year-old lover by Russian roulette. These are the hardest things to take in the book, and one wishes Richards’ would have been able to own up to it more here. Marlon and Angela Richards seem to have a good adult relationship with their parents, with Marlon contributing to his father’s book. Keith’s two other children with his wife Patti Hansen, Theodora and Alexandra, were brought up with far less drama.

There’s been much press surrounding his many less-than-flattering comments towards Mick Jagger in the book, but for any Stones fan, well, it’s old news, that. They’ve been at each other for a long time now, and the pokes that Richards makes towards his bandmate seem to arise primarily from the hurt that he lost his closest friend to fame-fueled narcissism. I imagine, if asked and answered honestly, Jagger has the same feeling of loss and betrayal about Richards, his trust destroyed over and over by the fallout from Richards’ drug use. But what might be kind of worse? The almost-complete indifference Richards shows towards former Stones bassist Bill Wyman. He is barely mentioned at all.

In the end, what really makes the book isn’t the sad or dramatic or the pissy jabs: it is the unabashed love and enthusiasm Richards’ has for music, for a sound that sets him on fire. It is fascinating to read about his early years in post-War Britain, a poor boy saved by rock n’ roll indeed, an only child with a large and quirky extended family. Once he got his hands on a guitar and Chuck Berry records, he was gone, daddy, gone. You can feel his drive and excitement to learn how a particular guitar sound is made, how that one Everly Brothers lick went, and it remains just as strong in him today, which is terribly endearing. Richards’ is also funny and bright; a reader and observer of the world, interested in so many things. He is tough, but not jaded nor bitter; kind-hearted enough to rescue mangy cats and dogs from Russia and Jamaica and bring them home for good. He’s a pirate, but includes his own recipe for bangers n’ mash in the book. Ya gotta love the guy, really. He’s one-of-a-kind.

Read, nap; nap, read; shower, nap, read, eat something, write up what I thought about Life. “Great book. Read it.” Post. Nap.

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MY DAY IN BED WITH KEITH RICHARDS

Today a double-barreled assault on my immune system -- a stomach bug + the family hacking cough -- caused me to take to my boudoir for most of the day in inelegant repose. Not in the mood for the blare of the television nor for the energy of the radio, in-between snorts and gurgles I recalled that Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones had been hanging out quietly in my bedroom for awhile now, and that I really should attend to him. So we snuggled up all warm and quiet.

I suspect that you suspect that I am full of crap (well, I'm not now, but we won't explore that further). Of course, my Richards is but a read. I had previously started in on his new autobiography, Life, and was enjoying it quite a bit. But my own Life intervened -- there are never enough hours to any day. Today, my confinement made for a good opportunity to get back to the book. The guy is an interesting cat, man.

I'm about halfway through it now, and will go back to it after this post. Three small observations I wanted to share from it follow.

1. A quote from Keith, page 172, regarding the first Jagger/Richards-penned Stones hit, "The Last Time": "The song has the first recognizable Stones riff or guitar figure on it; the chorus is from the Staple Singers' version, "This May Be The Last Time." BINGO! Thanks, mate.

2. The book is written in a very straightforward, honest, and conversational way -- like you were hearing Richards' tales across a bar, sharing a few beers. It's very accessible and enjoyable. He changes that up only once, to give an Impressionist feeling to a fading memory from 1963. As the Rolling Stones were very rapidly rising in popularity in England, Richards can't quite believe that their serious and recently-destitute blues-purist band now has all these crazy female teenybopper fans. There is something poetic and charming about this little vignette between the young guitar player inside and three soaked fans outside:

"The sky is sullen. It's a day OFF! Suddenly the storm breaks viciously! Outside I see three die-hard fans. Their bouffants are succumbing to nature's forces. But they stay! What can a poor boy do? 'Get in here, dopes.' My tiny cubicle is filled with three drowned brats. They steam, trembling. They drench my room. The hairdos are done. They are trembling from the storm and from suddenly being in their (or one of their) idol's room. Confusion reigns. They don't know whether to squat or go blind. I'm equally confused. It's one thing to play on stage to them, it's another to be face-to-face. Towels become an important issue, as does the john. They make a poor attempt to resurrect themselves. It's all nerves and tension. I get them some coffee laced with a little bourbon, but sex is not even in the air. We sit and talk and laugh until the sky clears. I get them a cab. We part as friends."

3. A phrase that Richards repeats frequently in regards to the early days of the band and how everything changed is, "It all happened so fast." Good epitaph, really.

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IF YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING NICE TO SAY…

I’m having a bit of a crisis of conscience. Maybe if I write about it I can sort it out. Maybe you can help me sort it out. All I know is that it keeps nagging at me, which means I have to deal with it.

I have something I very much want to write about. It would not be a simple thing to do, just by the nature of the topic and time constraints. I feel like I could do a good job with it, and that it would be a unique piece and perhaps of some critical worth to read. To make the writing as good as it can be, I have to be honest. And if I am honest, some of the content might offend, hurt, or anger some people who read it, some my friends, people who have been kind to me. And therein lies my crisis.

Normally, I don’t worry too much about troubling others with my blog spew – it’s ain’t the New York Times, after all. I have opinions, so do you and you and you, and we are all entitled to have them. It’s good to have an opinion, good to take a stance, good to be passionate about things. (And really, I would be honored to trouble Phil Spector or Jan Brewer or Dina Lohan.) But this is more complicated. What I want to write about has endless shades of grey, as well as blackest black and purest white. I have a personal connection to the material, and perspective from both close up and far, far back. And when I have this sort of fire to write about something, it usually turns out to be a good thing, and at the very least, settles something in my mind. It is absolutely not my intent or interest to upset anyone with this particular piece.

Nothing I write will change anything – that isn’t the point. So what is the point? Is it worth doing?

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

I have lots of nice things to say, and I would say them. But nothing that is truly intriguing is just sweetness and light, or at least not to me. I like the complications and the strangeness, the dark and the light, the successes and failures. It makes for a story that is compelling and real. And I haven’t seen that yet, and I want to try to tell it as best I can, in some small way.

Yet, I don’t seem to be able to do it. There’s a wall stopping me. I just don’t know if that’s an obstacle to be overcome, or a sign that I should take a different path. Bah.

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SIBLING INSULT FAILURE

D'oh.

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THE BEATLES VS. GERMANY

A long-running battle, apparently. It began with the Beatles' mockery of Hitler and Hitlermania.

The Beatles, "We Build TANKS!"



Then a German adolescent with a cracking voice made a bad Beatles cover version in spite.

A German Kid, "Let It Be (Untuned)"



Then the Beatles played poorly at a concert in Germany:



Then some more German kids did a kind-of scary German-language cover of "Help!"

Some More German Kids, "Halt!"



Then the Beatles totally ridiculed the German language with "Geh Raus":



Then Hitler reveals that he is a major Beatles fan, and the feud was ended.

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VIVIAN MAIER

This is a story that leaves me just about speechless. 

One of the greatest street photographers of our time was a French-born woman named Vivian Maier; this I feel is true even just having seen a small sample of her work. Most of her life she was a nanny in the Chicago area, a very private individual, didn't seem to have family or friends. But she always wore a camera and always was taking pictures, it's said, although Vivian never shared her work with anyone.

If young real estate agent John Maloof had not found a box of about 30,000 of her old negatives at a storage locker foreclosure auction and purchased them, no one may ever have seen her remarkable photographs. Vivian Maier died in 2009, unaware of her discovery and worldwide appreciation. You can see more of the story in this WTTW video piece.



John Maloof has been working nearly non-stop to scan and process Maier's negatives and undeveloped rolls of film. It's a massive, overwhelming task -- one I'm sure he never expected to come across in his life. I am just stunned by the quality and tremendous talent shown in Maier's photography. All of it could very well have been tossed in a dumpster, and gone forever. Amazing.

John Maloof has a blog about Vivian's photographs and the progress being made on bringing her work to the public. A book and a documentary film are in the works, and you may help fund the efforts by contributing here at Kickstarter. I did.

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VIDEO FUN: EVERYTHING IS ONE BIG CHRISTMAS TREE

My Christmas present to you today is this: a little video I made up for The Magnetic Fields' "Everything Is One Big Christmas Tree." The song, from this year's "Realism" album, has been hanging out in my head for almost a full year. It's jaunty, funny, and creepy, and I love it. I could picture a complete video for it, every shot, and I even tried to think of some possible way I could DO it. I am often overambitious.

As best I could do in a few hours of YouTube footage combing, slicing, and dicing this evening, this one at least gives a little idea of what I was thinking about, with special thanks to Sid Davis and his very amusing early '50s anti-drug film "The Terrible Truth."

Oh, Sandy. Heh.

The Magnetic Fields, "Everything Is One Big Christmas Tree"


Everything is one big Christmas tree
All got up with lights and candy
All the world is turning prettily
Everyone's awaiting Sandy
Stop mumbling and cheer up
Put down the book, pick beer up

Why sit in your dark and lonely room?
Must your every word be sincere?
Here's a vial of laughing gas perfume
See that people smile when you're near
If they don't like you screw them
Don't leave your fortune to them

Nein, vielleicht ist Allest nicht ein Traum
Ist Alles ein Albtraum? Nicht, nicht!
Alles ist ein großer Tannenbaum
Rotierend im Weltraumgeschichte
La la la la la la
La la la la la la

Everything is one big Christmas tree
All got up with lights and candy
All the world is turning prettily
Everyone's awaiting Sandy
Where can that Sandy be?...

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SANTA LIVES IN CHELSEA

It is my pleasure to share with you today this lovely story, beautifully produced by the New York Times. Merry Christmas.

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A VISUAL REVIEW OF X-TREME POWER'S "RESPECT & OBEY AUTHORITY"

CouchTeen brought this music video to my attention yesterday.

"Go to YouTube," he said.

"OK," I said.

He typed the title of this song into the YouTube search, then sat down next to me and we watched it together:




I looked at the screen like this:

Then I looked at CouchTeen like this:

Then CouchTeen looked at me like this:

Then I looked back at the video like this:

Then CouchTeen looked at the screen like this:

Then I looked at CouchTeen like this:

Then we both agreed to look like this:

That pretty much covers it.

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