So, um, yeah, my students attached my head to a buffalo
and placed that awesome monstrosity onto t-shirts. A longer story exists behind
this shirt, the students who created it, and our year together in AP English
11, but I won’t tell it here or now. Right now, I’m still digesting how we
arrived from September to now, and with time still left in the year, I’m not
entirely ready to reflect on the school year as done. We’re still reading and
analyzing Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (2006)
and Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! (2010).
So, I’ll just say thank you and that I’m incredibly humbled.
At the start of the week, the magazine Rufous City Reviewreleased their new issue. My poem "Waimea Canyon" was included in it, along with several other poems I enjoyed over the course of a couple snow days that kept me home from school. Visit the site. Download the PDF. It's free, and it's good for you.
You can see it in the branches of the late summer trees. They slow their growth, fade to red and yellow, and then strip bare. The endless sun exhausts them. This is how they survive the winter.
Retribution is a Star Wars film made by UGA wide receiver Christian Conley. I first heard of the film on Clay Travis' siteOutkick the Coverage. The film features cameos from prominent figures in the Georgia program, including running back Todd Gurley and head coach Mark Richt. (In fact, Richt's cameo could be interpreted as a strange bit of commentary on how unaware college coaches are of their players' extracurriculars.) Perhaps, though, what the film sells best, beyond Star Wars and Georgia football, is the Classic City itself. Sanford Stadium is the perfect setting for action, the campus is idyllic, and the city streets made me long with nostalgia for sleepy autumn mornings in the breast of the south. Enjoy:
Links
-Over at The Faster Times, Jason Diamond did a nice write up on the current state of the hockey goon. Reading it made my head hurt (just joking): "Who Will Protect the Hockey Goons?"
Definitely late on this and perhaps not even cool anymore. The band isn't mainstream, but it also isn't a secret. It's kind of stranded in that realm of just making music, like Ray Allen in Seattle, like Chuck Palahniuk's novels. And, therefore, you probably already like them or you don't. I do; my fiancee doesn't. But I'm still taking her to see them in August, hoping that flesh and blood is more impressive than digital recordings.
The column where we try and mention anything we may have missed. It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food establishment, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Music: I'm not going to write a full-fledged review of Hammer the Fingers' new album Black Shark; I'm just going to say that my thumb can't help scrolling for it on my iPod as I drive to work everyday and that pretty much every song sounds like something an adolescent musician growing up in the '90s would have dreamed of writing. Anyone who was in possession of a CD collection in middle school that was comprised mostly of Weezer, Foo Fighter, and Nirvana secretly wanted to grow up and be Hammer No More the Fingers.
Music: Almost every review one reads for Spoon's new album says something along the lines of "Spoon is a band that's always gotten a lot out of a little, so it's hard to imagine them stripping their sound down even more." I thought everyone was using the line because it was an easy way to review the album-- kind of like how blogging is an easy way to fake being a journalist--but the album really is a stripped down Spoon, proving that hard economic times cause even musicians to tighten their belts and ration out their melodies. The sparseness of Transference makes one truly appreciate the passing moments that are filled with sound, layers, and echoes, and maybe that's what Transference is: the echo of one's emotions traveling outside the body. The space one can hear in this album can make a one bedroom apartment feel as vast as a canyon. Buy it. Enjoy it. Try and not get lost in it.
Just For Kicks: The following video is as close as we could get to ?uestlove guest blogging for us:
If Bob Dylan's Christmas in My Heart has you longing for his younger days, then check out The Felice Brothers, and yes, I know the comparison is a lazy one to make.
Are bands shooting videos with cell phone cameras now? Either of their albums (The Felice Brothers or Yonder is the Clock) would make nice stocking stuffers for the kids.
Film:
When it comes to traditional "Oscar-worthy" films, 2009 hasn't had much to offer. Invictus and Up in the Air might prove me wrong. It just seems kind of funny that in a year where Oscar expanded their number of nominations there seems to be a shortage of deserving films. Anyway, for my money, two films that deserve nominations are The Hangover and The Amazing Mr. Fox, and with ten nominations, it seems the Academy could be a little more adventurous than the BCS (there's a column brewing in that thought). Anyway, I think Fantastic Mr. Fox is Wes Anderson's best and most complete film. Go see it now. George Clooney is pure gold, and no one else could have done the voice for this cussin' role. Whistle. ck. ck.
Dan Wetzel, of Yahoo!Sports, writes one of the few interesting articles about the Tiger Woods debacle. I'm not calling it Tiger Zoo after Bill Simmons wasted my time with half an essay that arrived nowhere, which actually captures the Tiger story perfectly, so I apologize, Bill--job well done.
Langston directed Pitchfork's article on The Black Keys' new project "The Blakroc Sessions" to me back in October, when I was at the Austin City Limits Festival, without a computer and the time to do anything about it. I really don't have much to say about the project at this point other than the fact that I first discovered The Black Keys my junior year of college. I spent the night at this girl's apartment after having a few too many solo cups of Natty Lite, and the next morning awoke to the bass and snare of "When the Lights Go Out." When I opened my eyes and saw sunlight leaking through the blinds, my faith in rock 'n roll was restored.
I'd spent the first half of my college career collecting hip hop album after hip hop album, hanging on to every rhyme like hot wax dripping from a candle, letting my Led Zeppelin and Rolling Stones cds gather dust from inside the dark abyss that was my cd booklet. The Black Keys were the white rabbit I chased into the Wonderland of indie rock, and I haven't really looked back since, as rock 'n roll eclipsed my infatuation with hip hop. The strange irony now is that with "The Blakroc Sessions" The Black Keys appear ready to resuscitate my passion for beats and rhymes by bringing the two genres together, and I couldn't be more excited.
PS If you click on "The Blakroc Sessions" link, you can preorder the album to be shipped on Friday, the 27th.
The weekly column where we do our best to mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Music: The album Boy Meets World by Fashwan features an album cover with a young boy and a bunch of sparkling bubbles, backed by a glossy, gold background. While the bubbles suggest innocence, the expression on the boy's face suggests that the world he's being introduced to is not at all innocent. In fact, he looks as if the bubble of his childhood has just been popped.
The cover promises freshness, and the introduction of something new, but the music inside is actually filled with the sounds of real life experience. What Fashawn does on the album is definitely not new, but it is fresh, simply because it doesn't sound like anyone else who is out right now. His rhymes are straight forward, not flashy. He tells stories that are true to life, and he does this without forcing punch lines or trying too hard to be clever. While Lil Wayne and Kanye have become the dominant voices of hip hop, creating bubbles of celebrity around themselves, they've also become the dominant forces in turning hip hop into a standup comedy routine of mispronounced words and empty boasts, which isn't their fault; afterall, both of them were tucked under the wings of the Jay-Z school. In the face of contrived marketing schemes like "D.O.A." and "Run This Town," Fashawn's frankness comes off as a pin prick sharp enough to burst bubbles.
While Fashawn may not have the star power or the raw talent of his peers, his album is the one that stands out because it does not sound like overthought pretense, and it does not feature a mock political revolution based on wearing black articles of clothing for no reason. It is what it is, and what it is is an honest telling of one's story over soulful beats. This album promises to hold a place in one's rotation because it does not fall victim to the times of its birth. And sometimes that's all it takes for survival.
The weekly column where we do our best to mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Wait 'til next year: On Wednesday night, the season for the Los Angeles Dodgers came to an abrupt end. (Who knew good pitching and hitting, beat bad pitching and hitting?) It was a season that saw the team get off to a hot start, complemented by Orlando Hudson going for the cycle and a record-setting start at home. They led the National League almost the entire season, helped mostly by the vast improvements of Matt Kemp and Andre Eithier. They also (for the second year in a row) swept the NL Central division winner in the divisional series. Lastly, they were one of the last four teams standing. All of these things, mark a successful season.
They also (for a second year in a row) got lambasted by the Phillies in 5 games, with two former Dodgers helping do much of the damage. The news of the McCourts divorce couldn't come at a more inappropriate time, the day of game one of the NLCS. Oh and Manny got caught using female fertility drugs, when he left he was killing the ball, afterwards he was just another guy in Dodger blue.
We could focus on this seasons failures, but that is what the offseason is for and the season isn't technically over until a champion is crowned. So until then, I will remember the season that was, as a success. I mean honestly, why rush into thinking about Frank McCourt only getting to see us on the weekends?
Teach: If you ever feel nostalgic about your lost youth, or just sports, then this post by Joey over at FreeDarko is a must read. I found it especially timely because I read it the day after my 26th birthday.
This week was Spirit Week at the high school where I work. The following are spirit days I wish we would have instead of Wacky Wednesday, Stoplight Day, and Sweats and Slippers Day.
Also, let it be known that Wacky Wednesday looks like Mardi Gras without the booze. Stoplight Day allows high schoolers to call out the students who don't have boyfriends and girlfriends, and Sweats and Slippers Day just looks like all the students are coming in to take the SAT's. Slightly Disturbing. Slightly cruel. And slightly lame.
-NBA Lottery Suit Day
-19th Century Presidents Day
-Evolution Day (come as your favorite link in the chain)
-Dictator Day
-Bible Day
Feel free to add suggestions.
Buy This Album: A Place to Bury Strangers' Exploding Head For the first time in my life, I am working in an office. Even worse, it is at a collection agency. My main responsibility is to collect back-taxes from people who can barely afford to pay their bills. The people I work with are nice enough, but it's easily the worst job I have ever held. With every call you get another story of despair and failure, making each day at work more taxing than the last. Why am I telling you this? Because my first week on the job, I got this album and wanted to take this time to thank APTBS. "Exploding Head" has allowed me to cool my spirits in a short drive home. And without it, I'd probably be an alcoholic by now. Did I mention this job is the bane of my existence?
For a more conventional review, check out Sputnik Music.
The weekly column where we and mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Last weekend, I caught a plane on Thursday night from DC to Austin, TX. The flight was an interesting one. Everyone aboard appeared to fit into three categories: a college professor, southern frat boy, and bohemian hipster. The college professors stood out based on their corduroy jackets, complete with arm patches, and the rare book that was the only thing they made eye contact with on the flight. From where I sat, the book's title appeared to be I'm Smarter than You. The frat boys could all be picked out before the flight and during it by offering up such poetic phrases as, "No, brah, won't be in Knoxville this weekend. I'm hittin' up ACL. It's gonna be tight. All my boys will be there," from underneath worn out baseball caps. The bohemians sported sheik beards, thick-rimmed glasses, flannel designed shirts, and anything else that made them appear to have deeply studied On the Road or that they might listen to Bob Dylan on vinyl. Personally, I sported a baseball cap, a sheik beard, thick rimmed glasses, and read from a poetry collection that I felt confident very few people have heard of. In fact, it's so rare I won't even mention its name, but it had a rhinoceros on the cover.
I could continue to write this like a chapter in my memoirs, but I'm not sure that would do anyone any good right now; so I'll cut to the chase. The following are the highlights from my ACL experience. It should also be noted that I only attended the first and last days of the festival.
Friday:
Dr. Dog was the first band that grabbed my attention and held it for a whole set. My sister, a friend of hers, and I had just finished seeing the Avett Brothers, who didn't impress me too much. They came off as an old school O.A.R. Anyway, Dr. Dog had me dancing and grooving in the Texas heat at 3:30 in the afternoon, and kept me from realizing that I was getting a little sunburned. When their set ended, I was disappointed. I could have used another half hour or so; their live momentum was still building. If they're ever in a town near you, I would check them out.
K'Naan played one of the smaller stages at ACL, but it was perfect for him. I've always argued that most emcees are benefited by smaller venues. It's just hard for one dude to fill a festival venue with just his lyrics, a mic, and a beat. K'Naan is a performer who can do that. Hearing him live one notices just how musically diverse his music is. The crowd really got into his song "Bang Bang" because it was one of the first singles off his album Troubador, but "Wavin' Flag" and "Somalia" were incredibly moving. He also talked to the crowd more than most artists do at festivals; it was really like we were just hanging out in a basement or someone's living room.
Andrew Bird may have been the most talented musician at ACL. I only caught the last half of his show because I spent the first half checking out Dave Grohl's side project Them Crooked Vultures. What I heard of Bird's set made me wish that I had bypassed seeing Grohl, legend John Paul Jones, and Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age). Grohl was awesome to see playing the drums, like Animal from the Muppets, but Bird is as my sister puts it, "one of those rare geniuses that is just intimidating to behold."
Sunday:
Heartless Bastards were by far my favorite discovery of the weekend. Erika Wenerstrom, in her jean shorts and tall cowboy boots, is an incredibly talented performer. The reason might be because she appears as a cross between Tom Petty and Kate Blanchett. I would suggest Blanchett play her in a film, but people would probably think it was just another take on one of Bob Dylan's many lives. This band hails from Ohio, so comparison to The Black Keys are easy to make; but the Heartless Bastards have more of a grace to their sound. I don't know what else to say about them except that their effort on stage was full of sincerity. Buy their album The Mountain now. If you're hesitating on the purchase, then check out their songs "Out to Sea" and "The Mountain" first and go from there.
State Radio pretty much sounds just like Dispatch, which makes sense because Chad Urmston was/is the frontman for both. The only difference is that State Radio takes a more political slant to the frat reggae vibe that Dispatch did so well. The greatest thing about their performance was the unspoken metaphor. A bunch of hippies wallowed in what they thought was mud but was really refined sewage, which somehow ties into the feel good vibe of State Radio's music that's really about what a muddy mess the world is in. Seriously, how many people came away from ACL with hookworm?
Pearl Jam were not only the best performers at the Festival, but they were also the best received. Walking back to our car, I heard several people younger than myself say, "[Pearl Jam's] show blew me away. I didn't realize they had so many good songs." Okay, winning over a bunch of drunk college (or were they in high school) may not mean much, but it should be noted that Pearl Jam's set did not include the hits "Jeremy," "Black," or "Betterman." This show was a testament to this band has always been: a testament to free will. They came out and played what they wanted to play, and the crowd ate it up. After having admitted to staying up with Ben Harper all of Saturday night, Eddie Vedder came onto stage in what appeared to already be a bottle or so of wine into the evening, but he found his legs and wound up wading through the mud and fecal matter just like everyone else at ACL, as he came down off the stage and ran through the crowd during "Keep on Rockin' in the Free World." At different points in the night, Pearl Jam was joined on stage by Ben Harper and Perry Farrell of Jane's Addiction.
Band I wish I'd seen: TheYeah Yeah Yeahs (people who saw their set raved about it)
The weekly column where we and mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Langston:
Entering Friday, the Dodgers have lost four games in a row which included a pummeling at the hands of the hapless Pirates. With only a couple games, it's safe to assume that this is not the best time for a team to play it's worst ball of the season. However this current slide ties their longest losing streak of the season, and the fact that they have only lost more than three games in a row twice, over the course of a long season bodes well for any playoff team.
And they did get swept by the Padres, but it was a two game series. This late season decline might also relegate them to the wild card spot in the NL, but they have been tied or have been in first place in the NL West for 153 of 159 games. A lot of these losses have been placed on a lack of discipline by the batters, a tired pitching rotation, and the fact that they still have no ace. But all eight regular starters have at least 50 walks each and they have Randy Wolf. The Dodgers play like champions when he is on the mound, winning 22 games out of his 33 starts.
You could take the preceding as a list of reasons why the Dodgers will fall short in the playoffs. Or you could look at it as a catalog of rebuttals for all of those arguments. When weighing the two options, I'll go with the latter. But what can I say? When it comes to the Dodgers, I am hopelessly optimistic. It doesn't help my endless optimism that the supposed "most dangerous hitter" of the lineup is no longer the only bat to be scared of and may not even be the second or third best hitter in the lineup. Teach: I found this mesmerizing....like blues rock found its way into some British spy flick.
Buy This Album:
As Deckfight pointed out, every blogger has one of "those" weeks. Well due to my new job as a loan shark, I too am having one of those weeks and it has greatly condensed my time to scourge the nets for the next best album. I did buy a couple of albums this week. Though they have either been covered already, failed to live up to expectations, or fell just short of the "must hear/buy" label. So I decided to leave you with this skate video. Not so much for the skating but moreso for the soundtrack. It features the band Truman Sparks and a medley of their songs "Juan the sperm whale" and "Trog."
The weekly column where we and mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Music:
Last weekend, I buried my grandfather. This week, a close colleague of mine passed away while at work. This year is my third year teaching, and every year I've taught at least two inclusion classes with Ms. Smith. Her death shocked me. She appeared in good health and was only in her early 40's. My grandfather was 91. Ms. Smith's last words were, "Dory, please don't let me die." My grandfather died, saying, "I guess Pat's getting tired of waiting on me." My grandfather leaves behind him an extended family of children, grandchildren, uncles, aunts, and cousins. Ms. Smith leaves behind an eight year old daughter and what feels like an unfinished legacy of reaching special needs children.
Under these circumstances, I've spent the last week listening to Pearl Jam's ninth studio album Back Spacer. The album is everything Binaural should have been, mixing Pearl Jam's punk roots with their folk roots seamlessly. Critics have pretty much limited the discussion of Back Spacer to its first three or four songs, claiming that they show the band can still rock, while throwing out random references to Ten, which just might be Pearl Jam's weakest and most immature album.The isolated anger and frustration that bore songs such as "Once," "Why Go Home," and "Black" has given way to the maturity that songs like "Alive," "Jeremy," and "Oceans" hinted this band could achieve but at the same time failed to fully grasp. "Jeremy" was always a song that mattered, not because it was angry, but because it identified with the shooter. "Jeremy" mattered because it blamed the rest of the world for dehumanizing Jeremy to the point he would bring a gun to school. His crimes were an indictment of how our society functions, and the adolescent questions of how and why such events could occur have now given way to a mature doctrine, found in the lyrics of Back Spacer's "Unthought Known": "Dream the dreams of other men. You'll be no one's rival." Back Spacer is a manual on how to prevent anyone from going through the trials that produced the anger and rage found on Ten, making it the more important work.
More importantly, Pearl Jam's Back Spacer continues to prove that pigeon holing this band as brooding cynics who take themselves too seriously was always and still is a huge misinterpretation of their catalog. Songs like "Amongst the Waves," with its chorus "Riding high amongst the waves/ I can feel like I have a soul that has been saved/ I can see the light/ coming through the clouds in rays," are driven by their perspectives of optimism and spirituality. Back Spacer even features an ode to the Super Sonics leaving Seattle, and, in a song that was inspired by an NBA owner's rejection of their home city, Pearl Jam finds a hopeful perseverance: "Supersonic, Truth be told/ I don't need you to live, But I'll Never let you go." A nice touch to this song is the cartoon Sonics Sasquatch next to the lyrics in the album art. Pretty serious, huh?
Pearl Jam, once it dealt with its own demons, has always been a band driven by the idea that everyone is connected by our shared humanity and, in being human, that we share emotional states and experiences. Eddie Vedder sings it time and time again on Back Spacer: "Slide on next to me/ I'm just a human being." It's strange that a band driven by such Transcendental-hippie ideals has earned a reputation as always being outraged and depressed. Perhaps, what depressed us most about Pearl Jam is that their love actually demands one change the way they live, as opposed to the love sung in a Beatles song that makes no mention of "paths cut by the moon," Henry Adams forces of nature, or a spirituality that is more than a hook and a melody.
The love Pearl Jam shares on Back Spacer got me through this week, and I don't know how many bands are capable of achieving that time and time again.
Television: While shows like Community were well-hyped over the summer with strong marketing campaigns that earned them spots in Rolling Stone's "50 Reasons to Watch Television," a lot of them have failed to meet the hype or the potential of their casts. Modern Family, on ABC, is by far the funniest new show I've seen in a while. I stumbled upon this show this past Wednesday flipping channels, and it's the first family sitcom since Arrested Development that appears to be both interesting and relevant to the times in which we live.
In just the pilot episode, viewers were treated with Ed O'Neill's return to prime time television, a father shooting his own son with a pellet gun, and a gay couple presenting their adopted Vietnamese baby as if it were Simba from The Lion King.
The weekly column where we mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Reasons to cheer: This weekend Florida and UT face off in The Swamp, in what is promised to be a nationally televised slaughter of the big orange. Even with the slim chances of UT staying within three touchdowns, I am looking at this game from a positive perspective. There are multiple reasons why Vol fans shouldn't be so gloom and doom for this matchup.
If the Gators cover the spread, which is now at 30, they are mearly meeting expectations. If the Vols keep it close and lose, Kiffin has won the battle of perceptions and the Gators fail to keep their word.
Even without Kiffin saying anything about the Gators, this would have been hard to watch. Remember the last time they played in the swamp? When the Gators won 58-20, with 21 points coming in the fourth quarter, thanks to Meyer using multiple timeouts to lengthen the Vols misery. And last year, where the Vols were demolished at home 30-6. So how much did Kiffin talking trash really hurt the Vols?
Crompton is still the starter, and that's enough reason to fret about this game. Crompton is obviously not going to win them games. But at least Kiffin found that out last week, and will understand better what he is dealing with. Maybe Kiffin decides to use the wildcat. Maybe Kiffin decides to run on third and long, in an effort to make the game a field position battle. Maybe Kiffin decides to go with Orson's Swindle's advice, and start a giant catfish. All of these possibilites seem pretty awesome when compared to the idea of Crompton throwing five yard swing passes 98 miles per hour for the rest of the season.
In 2001, the Volunteers went into The Swamp as 21 point dogs. They ended up out rushing the Gators 242-36, with Travis Stephens having the game of his life. They also won that game 34-32. (I want to note that the 2001 team had multiple NFL players including Jason Witten, Albert Haynesworth and Big John Henderson.) I can't imagine what would happen if they pulled off the upset, but I do know that Tebow would rip his human mask from his head to show the world his true state. As Vol fans know, he's actually a robot sent from Mercury to take over the World.
Lastly, after Saturday, the Volunteers will never have to face Tim Tebow ever again. For me, that is reason enough to celebrate.
So Vol fans, while your watching the game, remember as long as the Vols keep it close, they are actually winning. And even if they lose by 70, that evil robot from Mercury will never face the Vols again.
Teach on the Jordan Speech:
If you saw Michael Jordan's Hall of Fame speech, then you've probably also noticed some of the backlash to it, as well as JA Adande's categorical defense of it. One should also make note of Bethlehem Shoals' thoughts on the matter, which come the closest to expressing how I feel about the matter. Jordan's speech was a look inside his head; it showed us his fear, his drive, and his ego. Perhaps, these traits are inseparable, but I find it hard to deride a man for revealing himself down to his core just because we wanted him to be something other than who he is. Michael Jordan was a damn good basketball player--the best I've ever seen--and we'd all be better served if we accepted the fact that he is not the Messiah, an activist, a politician, or a philosopher but a human being, as flawed as any other, who just so happened to be better at one thing than most of us could ever dream of being at anything.
The above highlight features two men, perceived as polar opposites, on and off the court, that went into the Hall of Fame together, showing us, like a Robert Frost poem, that while it may be true "two roads diverged in a yellow wood," those two roads both led to the same destination.
Buy This Album:
White Denim Fits We already told you why White Denim's "I Start to Run" would be perfect for college football. But the whole album accompanies a tailgate nicely, it's music like this that can make even the most dreadful game seem appealing. It's just like whiskey but without the hangover. I leave you today with their video for "Shake, Shake, Shake" off their EP, Workout Holiday,
The weekly column where we and mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Richard and the Raiders:
Earlier this week the Raiders traded a 2011 first round pick to the Patriots for defensive lineman Richard Seymour. Throughout the preseason and much of the previous six seasons, the Oakland Raiders were continually gutted by the run. This addition would instantly improve their chances at fixing the problem and, therefore, raises there chances at being competitive. I say would because Seymour still hasn't arrived at Raiders facilities to take part in a physical, and until he does, the trade is not complete. If the Raiders get tired of waiting for him to show, they could then move to void the trade.
Yesterday, ESPN reported that Seymour was sent a letter notifying him that he has five days to report or he risks losing his $3.6 million salary by being suspended for the year. The trouble of this report is that the Raiders say they haven't sent him a letter and it's all a misunderstanding. From my time spent on the intranets, I have found that the Raiders are trying to negotiate a long-term deal with the 5 time Pro-Bowler, whose current contract expires at the end of the season. So it looks like he will be in Oakland at some point, just don't expect him to play against San Diego on Monday.
As for my thoughts on the trade, I like it but don't love it. Why trade for him, unless you already have him signed? You are taking a huge risk, on the assumption that the guy would want to play in Oakland. If he doesn't sign or show and the NFL doesn't void the trade, you have wasted a first round pick on nothing while also making one of the richest franchises that much richer. However, if they ever manage to get him in uniform, he will be a definite upgrade to a talented yet undisciplined defense. At the same time, the Raiders are showing that they are actually dedicated to fixing their problems, instead of increasing them. And lastly, Seymour would be moving from a 3-4 to a 4-3. Giving him less gap responsibilities, which could mean less work for him to achieve the same production levels. So essentially a great player could get even better, but who am I kidding? This is the Raiders we're talking about. There is no way this works out in their favor.
Teach and myself made our first ever guest appearance over at the indie rock and lit site, Deckfight, where we tried to envision what college football would be like with an Indie touch.
KD of Ball Don't Lie has a breakdown on why David Robinson was so great, despite his teams' lack of style.
Have you ever read an article on a topic you care nothing about, yet it still left you with a driving urge to force a spork into the nasal cavities of the columnist? You haven't? Well read this, and you will understand exactly what it feels like.
The weekly column where we try and mention anything we missed in the last week (or longer). It's a lot like those moments when you're out of ketchup, at a fine fast food restaurant, but lack the energy to go and get more; so you scrape away at the dregs on your hamburger wrapper, until all you can see is silver aluminum foil. It's classy, yet unrefined.
Dodgers loading up for the playoffs?: Earlier this week, the Dodgers acquired Jim Thome from the Chicago White Sox and Jon Garland from the Diamondbacks, in what has to be two of the biggest name and biggest "meh" acquisitions of all-time. Jim Thome has over 500 career home runs and will probably end up with a plaque in Cooperstown. But the Dodgers play in the national league, where a first basemen who can't play first base doesn't do them very much good, essentially making Thome a full-time pinch hitter, that is, unless the Dodgers manage to make it to the World Series. The Dodgers making the playoffs as either the winner of the division or wild-card looks like a lock, but the World Series, let's say that's just a bit presumptuous.
Garland was acquired to help round out the rotation, something I believed they accomplished with the call-up of Charlie Haeger and the signing of Vincente Padilla. But lets not forget about HirokiKuroda, who will be back from his concussion as early as Sunday. Garland may get 5 starts and if their anything like last night, it will be a good way to end an already great year. But trading a prospect for five games of use, seems like a waste, especially if it's Tony Abreu and his steadily improving OBP. Also, it's not like Garland will be starting in the playoffs, the rotation is set with Bills, Kershaw, Wolf, and Kuroda. So he can move to the bullpen, right? Well an extra arm in the bullpen is nice, but they already have the leagues best ERA, so no real upgrade there.
Of course if Garland continues to pitch like he did last night, he could help the Dodgers make this postseason a memorable one. And if Thome manages to pull off some Matt Stairs magic, it could be well worth it. However at this time those are huge ifs and I just don't see either of these trades really being worth it. Let's just hope that both of them can prove me wrong.
Teach's Book Review:
A couple weeks ago, I finished Chuck Palahniuk's latest book Pygmy, and I'm not really sure what to make of it. The premise is hilarious: a terrorist comes to America disguised as a foreign exchange student, only most of his observations show that America is already doing his job for him. Our addictions to medication are self-inflicted chemical warfare, and our inferior education ultimately sets us up as the perfect targets to be infiltrated and defeated. At its best, the book really is the literary South Park, but at its worst, the book feels unfinished and undeveloped, like Palahniuk was writing for a deadline.
The execution of the book is daring. Palahniuk writes the whole book in broken syntax, to create a cold, robotic dialect for his protagonist, a secret operative from a Communist country in Asia. Even the use of quotations from a plethora of historic dictators provides a serious brevity to the novel, as does the red and yellow jacket cover which features red shadows, exercising kungfu moves like the "flying giant stork death kick" and the "barracuda deadly eye gouge." The problem is that Palahniuk's obsession with genitalia and the grotesque often feels like it is inserted into the plot for no reason, appearing like a crutch when he doesn't know what else to write and causing his efforts to appear lackadaisical in nature.
After a while, some parts of the book feel forced and done purely for shock value, only because we expect this from Palahniuk it doesn't seem that shocking anymore. When Pygmy digs into his host mother's vagina, while she's passed out from date rape drugs, to take the batteries out of her dildo, one's mind wanders to other Palahniuk books, like Diary, that start off well but falter because they never make it off the runway cleanly and completely; ideas weighed down by the efforts, or the lack thereof, to make them fly.
Buy This Album: Sunset Rubdown "Dragon Slayer" Three reasons to buy this album;
