Syntax of Things

Waits on Letterman

Just as I predicted earlier in the week (tough one, I know), Tom Waits' Letterman appearance is now available online. The blog I'm Just Sayin' has posted two separate files (.mov), one has the interview and the other has the performance of "Make It Rain."

I'm crawling back under the sheets...

Sick Bed Post

The title of this post pretty much says it all. My thanks go out to Nyquil for making the last twenty-four hours tolerable. If I were feeling up to it, I would go to the Ghostmeat Records site and download some these "out-of-print records" mp3s. If you've never heard This Bike Is a Pipebomb, now's your chance. And to top it all off, you can grab a track from Dave Dondero and one from the Drive-by Truckers. Highly recommended. Additional tracks from other Ghostmeat artists can be found here (Hint: more Drive-by Truckers and some Sunbrain).

Help Wanted

I'm not one to beg, but this is a worthy cause. I'll let my wife, Elaine, explain:

It's that time of year again, and I [ed.'s note: and I] will be participating in the Walk to D’Feet ALS® and I really do need your help.

Two years ago, in October, my father passed away from this dreadful and dibilitating disease. I know that a cure is out there, waiting to be discovered, and with your help we can get closer to this goal.

My dad was a proud, talented and loving man and his life was cut short because there currently is no cure and he was given no options or words of hope when he was diagnosed.

Won’t you please join in my effort by making a tax-deductible donation to The ALS Association? With your help, I know we can make a difference and bring hope to those living with ALS. Anything you can contribute will be supporting an incredible cause. Thank you and please forward to anyone that you feel could and would like to help.

So if you have a few bucks to spare, consider giving to this worthy cause. You can go here or click on the link in the top right corner. Any little bit helps.

Cat Conscription

Tired of cleaning out the litter box or screaming your cat away from the furniture it has already ruined? Help is just south of the border:

Chihuahua health officials said Tuesday they hope to get as many as 700 felines and send them to Atascaderos, an isolated farm village in the rugged Tarahumara mountains, a region where officials estimate there are about a half million rats.

Come here, Samone.

So Many Links, So Little Time

I'm not really one for this link/news overload, but it seems I've contracted some sort of fatigue-inducing somethingorother. And there's just so much:

Reclusive author, S.E. Hinton, discusses her new novel and the agony of having to answer the same question year after year. Just after his days of wanting to be Huck Finn, complete with overworn overalls and a corncob pipe made for him by my grandfather, and just before his days as a break dancer, my brother, who celebrated his 31st birthday yesterday, was obsessed with The Outsiders. For months, all he wore were white T-shirts with the sleeves rolled up and black jeans. He'd slick back his hair and keep it in place with a switchblade comb. He'll be sad to know that a sequel is not in the works.

Earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes, asteroids. Interesting time to be Art Bellian.

Governor Arnold bans cigarettes from California prisons. Now how will the prisoners pay for their love?

The price of a cup of joe is going up.

Salmon Rushdie will deliver the Richard Ellmann Lectures at Emory. Insert Cat Stevens joke here.

The best search string of the last few weeks: braves dwarves with crack.

The history of punctuation?!. (credit)

A new STD.

The Decemberists recorded their new album, The Infanta, in a Baptist church. When the bandwidth recovers I'll post a new Decemberists song.

I failed to mention another new addition to the links: Bookdwarf.

Alabamians have lots of jokes about Mississippi, most of them using words like armpit and rectum. But Mississippi will always have scoreboard over Bama in one little area: the blues.

If you're a Bloglines user, here's a quick link to a Syntax of Things subscription.

The Golden State

How does California celebrate the anniversary of the white man's first landing upon its shores? The state attempts to split in half, how else?

1542: [Juan Rodríguez] Cabrillo reached "a very good enclosed port" which is now San Diego bay, on September 28, 1542, naming it "San Miguel". He probably anchored his flagship, the San Salvador at Ballast Point on Point Loma's east shore. Six days later, he departed San Diego sailing northward and exploring the uncharted coast line of California.

2004: A strong earthquake struck Central California on [September 28, 2004] that was felt from San Francisco to the Los Angeles area. There were no immediate reports of injuries. The quake, which struck at 10:15 a.m. PDT, had a preliminary magnitude of 6.0 and was centered 7 miles southeast of Parkfield, the town known as California's earthquake capital, according to the U.S. Geological Survey.

Step Right Up

For those of you waiting to hear what Tom Waits' new material sounds like, you're in luck: Waits will appear on the Late Show with David Letterman tonight. As is always the case, check your local listings and set your TIVO. If you miss it, I'm sure the appearance will make the P2P rounds soon enough.

In other Tom Waits news, the living legend has announced two North American dates to go along with the handful of concerts he will play across the pond. Unfortunately for those of us low on frequent flyer miles, neither of these shows are within driving distance from SoT headquarters. For those of you in Vancouver and Seattle, you'll be able to see him on October 15th and 18th, respectively. The Vancouver show is already sold out.

No word on future tour plans, but I've had crossed fingers for too many years and I ain't uncrossing them now.

My Ears Are Smarting

Much thanks go to largehearted boy for pointing out that Kevn Kinney releases a new album today. Kinney's MacDougal Blues was a favorite of my undergraduate days and one of those albums that I bought multiple copies of because friends and a certain brother kept taking my copy. Kinney is best known for his work with Drivin' N' Cryin', but I think he is at his best as a solo artist.

Kinney has been known to mix in a few literary references in his music. In the new issue of Spin, Dave Eggers takes on the subject of literary rock, claiming that he recently read Camus' The Stranger and finally connected the work to the Cure song "Killing an Arab." In the article, Eggers claims that music should be valued as much more than a popular form of entertainment:

Music-as-learning-tool combines three most potent sources of persuasion: a trusted voice, sublimity, and endless repetition. In the '80s, you could have read a wall of books about apartheid in South Africa, but none of them would have crawled inside your head as permanently as the Special AKA's "Nelson Mandela," Peter Gabriel's "Biko," or even Little Steven's "Sun City." Did these three songs end the oppression of the black majority? Well, no, but music can make simple, memorizable mantras out of complex issues, and with even the most tangential reference, artists can slip edifying messages into the most pervasive mass medium we have. Though such allusions are probably considered pompous by some, the net effect--that thousands or millions of people are getting even a cursory education--is a significant thing. The best recommendations come from a friend, someone you trust or pretend to trust, and if that person has your ears for hours at a time, the effect can be profound. It's like listening to motivational tapes while sleeping (which works! It totally works!).

You can test your lit-pop knowledge with this little quiz.

Take Gonzo and the Points

In his most recent ESPN Page 2 column, Hunter S. Thompson discusses a certain set of twins (and gambling):

[Indianapolis Colts owner Jim] Irsay called me last week from the ancient and honorable POLO Lounge in Beverly Hills, saying he was terribly nervous about his team's huge season opener in Foxboro -- somewhere on the outskirts of Boston. And he wondered if some of his players were planning to vote for George Bush in the coming November election.

"That's ridiculous," I told him. "Edge and Marvin would never vote for a criminal freak like George Bush. He is a failure in everything he touches."

"Well," he replied. "I don't know about that. Those two little daughters of his are extremely wild and hot. I've been sweet on those girls for a long time; I want them on my side when the deal goes down."

"Be careful, James," I said. "Those cupcakes are crazy as barn-cats, and they will never be on your side. Don't even think about inviting them up to Indianapolis for a game. Old Man Bush will call the cops on you and have you put in prison."

He laughed.

"Don't worry, Hunter," he said. "I know how to handle women. Those girls will be like putty in my hands. They will be worth at least three points in close games -- and I want those three points. I need them."

X/O

"From a Basement" offers only enigmatic clues to what happened last October and why. The songs, which range from bare guitar to full indie-rock arrangements, reflect Smith's usual mix of hope, frustration and weary resignation to life's injustices.

I'm not sure what people are expecting from the posthumous Elliott Smith album, but I'm willing to bet that 85% of the reviewers will be seeking some sort of hidden or even obvious suicide note threaded throughout. I've heard a few of the songs from the album (two downloads at link) and in light of Smith's gruesome death last year--and knowing that the guy had a very sad and tough life--it does tend to add an even more depressing edge to what are some already depressing songs. Ultimately, what good does it do to try and find answers from the album, or even to want answers, unless you're a friend or family member? Perhaps, just this once, we should simply let the songs stand in for the singer.

If...Then...

I wish every day could be like yesterday. Every morning my head would move from pillow to book, a fresh cup of coffee on the table beside me and a can of cinnamon rolls waiting to be cooked, and even if burned would still be just good enough for a late breakfast. I'd sit on the front porch enjoying the cool morning breeze and watch the old lady across the street, the one with the fused hips, as she waddles down her steps, cane in one hand, water hose in the other, to squirt something off of her window. The Braves game would come on at 10am and would be meaningless--the Braves already having clenched a spot in the playoffs--and I'd have NFL football to nap by in the afternoon. Elaine wouldn't ask me to do more than cook dinner, and even the dinner would be easy. Then in the evening, I would settle in for a last few hours of reading, winding down the day but knowing the next day would be another day like this day.

Instead, I know that every day this week will be the antithesis of yesterday. I know that I'm behind at work, that I have two projects to complete and both of them will require more time than I have. If I had to guess, I'd say that more than one day this week I'll probably see the sun come up and go down from my office window. It's not looking good.

I'll do what I can with SoT, but it's not looking good.

I've updated the links to the left with a few new (or new to me) blogs that I've been reading lately. For instance, Little Toy Robot, a Yankee and a Yankees fan now living in Atlanta, has been a frequent commenter here. I've been enjoying his site for the last few weeks. A few new music blogs, Tofu Hut, Fluxblog, and Said the Gramophone, always have great music related posts and downloads.

But as for me, I'll be on the other side of my work computer, sharing stories with my friends Power Point and Excel and Visio, pressing on despite the urges and pulls so that I can get to the weekend and have another day just like yesterday.

The Outlaw Robert Z.

Bob Dylan allowed David Gates and Newsweek an interview and a sneak peak at his soon-to-be-published memoir, Chronicles:

For sure my lyrics had struck nerves that had never been struck before, but if my songs were just about the words, then what was Duane Eddy, the great rock-and-roll guitarist, doing recording an album full of instrumental melodies of my songs? Musicians have always known that my songs were about more than just words, but most people are not musicians. What I had to do was recondition my mind and stop putting the blame on external forces. I had to educate myself, get rid of some baggage. The solitude of time was what I didn't have. Whatever the counterculture was, I'd seen enough of it. I was sick of the way my lyrics had been extrapolated, their meanings subverted into polemics and that I had been anointed as the Big Bubba of Rebellion, High Priest of Protest, the Czar of Dissent, the Duke of Disobedience, Leader of the Freeloaders, Kaiser of Apostasy, Archbishop of Anarchy, the Big Cheese. What the hell are we talking about? Horrible titles any way you want to look at it. All code words for Outlaw.

This One Feels Special

It's What's For Dinner

While recognizing that badly or crudely nourished men have achieved great things in the past, we affirm this truth: men think dream and act according to what they eat and drink.--FT Marinetti, "Manifesto of Futurist Cooking"

We'd driven 500 miles stopping only for a tank of gas and some bad pastries. Labor Day weekend traffic all the way up the 101 through Santa Barbara and we had a baseball game to be late for, no time to stop for a burger or a burrito.

San Jose. We made it in time for the 7th inning stretch, gave the hot dogs some thought, but a main road lined with Asian restaurants won out. Minor league parks often have minor league food.

Things we learned:

When picking an Asian restaurant in an unfamiliar town, without foreknowledge of what's in store, you must rely on the menu that is posted, if you're lucky, in the front window. When you cannot make out a single word of English on the menu, it's best to move on to the next one, unless the next one has a line of limos parked in front of it and balloons hanging from chandeliers. This could mean a wedding party and could also mean that you might not be served your food until some time the next morning. When all of the options at that particular shopping center are exhausted, and just when you think that the Taco Bell is starting to look good, don't worry. Don't give up hope for Asian food. The road has many options, even if the next choice is in a little strip mall in front of a WalMart.

Bamboo. Vietnamese and Thai cuisine. A plasma-screen TV blaring some Vietnamese award show. I made out one word, Hollywood, but the singing and dancing were nice. Others in the place seemed to enjoy.

The menu was in English. Some of the standard, familiar items. At that point, I could have eaten the menu. If only I'd stuck with the familiar, the pork chop dish...if only. But it didn't seem like there was any chance this would be enough food.

An additional thing I learned:

If the menu doesn't offer a detailed description of the item you are considering, you should a) ask your server or b) move on to the next item. You'll understand why in a minute.

Beef salad. Seemed safe enough. The server gave me a look that at the time I thought nothing of, that look that says "are you sure?". Hunger blinded me to the look.

Thai Beef Salad

2 tablespoons minced garlic
3 tablespoons minced serrano chilies
1/2 teaspoon firmly packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup lime juice
1 tablespoon unsalted roasted peanuts, finely chopped
salt (optional)
12 medium leaves of romaine or iceberg lettuce
1 medium red onion, diced fine
4 green onions, chopped
1 tablespoon peanut or corn oil (optional)
1 pound very lean flank or round steak, trimmed
1 tablespoon fresh ground pepper, or to taste
1/4 cup chopped cilantro, for garnish
mint leaves, for garnish

What this doesn't tell you is that the beef is served raw.

At least by all appearances, the beef in my salad was raw.

I've eaten some strange things in my day: rattlesnake, frog, squirrel, opossum. Until that night in San Jose, California, starving and road-weary, I'd never tasted of the raw beef. I'd spent a nickle short of seven bucks on this salad. It looked edible. I thought of sushi. I thought of Mad Cow Disease. I imagined large worms coiled inside my small intestine.

--Geoff, it looks raw. Think it's raw?

--It does look raw, Jeff. I think it's raw.

I closed my eyes and imagined a medium-well steak.

One last thing I learned:

Raw beef is chewy. It's also very good. You'll want more.

Vertigo

A new U2 song, "Vertigo," has been leaked. Actually, I'm surprised it took this long seeing as how the masters mysteriously disappeared a few months ago. I have about 5% bandwidth to spare, so I have no plans to post it. However, U2log has a couple of links to a download, assuming they still work. Grab it while you can; it's a rocker!

{donewaiting gets the credit for breaking this news.}

Fuggin' Funny

If you need a good laugh, go here, where they celebrate the fact that "fugly is the new pretty."

{much thanks to Gwenda for the link.}

Swappers Beware!

This one flew under the radar, but if you live out here on the Left Coast, you should definitely know about it (and elsewhere since these things, like dangerous weather patterns, often move from west to east):

California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger signed a law Tuesday establishing fines and potential jail time for anonymous file swappers. The new law says that any California resident who sends copyrighted works without permission to at least 10 other people must include his or her e-mail address and the title of the work. Swappers who do not include this information will face fines of up to $2,500 and up to one year in prison.

Minors can be fined up to $250 for their first two offenses, and a minor's third offense can bring a $1,000 fine and a year in county jail. The law provides exemptions for people sending works to immediate family members and for the transmission of works inside a home network.

"Peace train take this country, come take me home again"

The recent removal of Yusuf Islam, nee Cat Stevens, from this country on grounds that he has some nefarious ties to possible terrorist organizations brings to mind the last time Mr. Islam was involved in some controversy. You may recall that Mr. Stevens reportedly supported the calling for the death of Salmon Rushdie for the author's penning of The Satanic Verses. But do you remember the fallout in the music community? Most noteably, the 10,000 Maniacs, who had recorded a cover of Stevens' "Peace Train" for their album In My Tribe, removed the song from future pressings of the album after news of Stevens' support of the death threat were reported. According to Natalie Merchant at the time:

He destroyed the meaning of that song very quickly. It became impossible to include it without appearing to endorse what he has said. That's just not something we can do....

It has nothing to do with being punitive, we're just divorcing ourselves from him in the only way we can.

Back then, it was reported that Merchant and the Maniacs were concerned with where the royalties from the song would end up. Since that time, however, the Maniacs have released the song on an album and Merchant often performs it live. Stevens, for his part, backed off of his statement, claiming that it had all been a misunderstanding. I think we've all heard that one before.

Red Flag

I would like to personally thank the Santa Ana winds for the splitting headache. I'm going to dose myself with some allergy meds, so unlike the wind, posting will be light until afternoon.

Happy Bleepin' Bleepday

Growing up a Braves fan, I hated, loathed, despised all things L.A. Dodgers, especially the man at the helm, Tommy Lasorda. Back in those days, the Braves and Dodgers were in the same division, and in those few years that the Braves were competitive, it always seemed that the Dodgers were their biggest nemesis. Lasorda was always in the middle of it, opening his mouth just enough to piss off every Braves fan in the Southeast and beyond. Now that the Dodgers and Braves no longer share a division, the rivalry has become little more than six often meaningless games a year, and with Lasorda's retirement, I've grown to actually like the man. How can one not appreciate a guy that has done so much for the game of baseball? He is without a doubt one of the games biggest ambassadors and is never afraid to tell it like it is. And how could you not like a guy that could go on a tirade like this (realmedia file from Dodger Blues, who also has a transcript of the exchange).

So happy 77th to Tommy.

Brushback Pitch

Does this sound familiar? ESPN baseball columnist Rob Neyer had some problems with a book he was reading. The book, One Day at Fenway: A Day in the Life of Baseball in America, tells the story of a single Yankees-Red Sox game by documenting various fans' first-hand accounts of the events surrounding one of the best rivalries in all of sports. Neyer, who has written his own account of Fenway Park, was offended:

There are so many wonderful baseball books sitting on the bookstore shelves, waiting for good homes, that it offends me to think about how many unsuspecting readers will spend their money on this one instead. I wasn’t personally offended. But I was offended.

Instead of just tossing the book aside, Neyer decided to do something about it. He posted a scathing review of the book on Amazon using an assumed name. Within days, however, numerous glowing reviews countering Neyer's appeared on the site. He felt that a conspiracy was at hand. All of the reviews had a similar ring to them and he believed that the reviewers were using talking points provided by someone intimately involved with the book. Again, instead of leaving it alone, Neyer wrote another harsh review to counter the "fake" ones and had a friend post it on Amazon.

That's when he got into a little bit of deep poop, so to speak. A reporter figured out that Neyer was the source of the reviews and outed him in a column. Neyer felt bad, not for the review but for reviewing in anonymity, so he issued an apology at ESPN.com:

Again, my original intent was merely to add my honestly held opinion to the discussion. But I certainly regret how that discussion has progressed over these last two weeks. And the next time I feel like writing under a pen name, maybe that's a pretty good indication that I should remain on the sidelines.

Maybe he should take note of how Anne Rice handled some negative criticism by Amazon reviewers. On September 6, Rice, using her own name, wrote a response to what she felt were some unfair criticisms of Blood Canticle:

Seldom do I really answer those who criticize my work. In fact, the entire development of my career has been fueled by my ability to ignore denigrating and trivializing criticism as I realize my dreams and my goals. However there is something compelling about Amazon's willingness to publish just about anything, and the sheer outrageous stupidity of many things you've said here that actually touches my proletarian and Democratic soul. Also I use and enjoy Amazon and I do read the reviews of other people's books in many fields. In sum, I believe in what happens here. And so, I speak. First off, let me say that this is addressed only to some of you, who have posted outrageously negative comments here, and not to all. You are interrogating this text from the wrong perspective. Indeed, you aren't even reading it. You are projecting your own limitations on it. And you are giving a whole new meaning to the words "wide readership." And you have strained my Dickensean principles to the max. I'm justifiably proud of being read by intellectual giants and waitresses in trailer parks,in fact, I love it, but who in the world are you?

{Rice link from GalleyCat.}

The Stream Around the Sun

You can stream the upcoming R.E.M. album, Around the Sun, here.

{Link from donewaiting.}

The Long and Shortlists of It

As mentioned on just about every lit blog, the 2004 Booker shortlist has been announced, meaning that I have some serious catching up to do if I want to place any bets on this one:

Gerard Woodward, I’ll go to Bed at Noon
Achmat Dangor, Bitter Fruit
David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas
Sarah Hall, The Electric Michelangelo
Alan Hollinghurst, The Line of Beauty
Colm Tóibín, The Master

Not to be outdone, the ten finalists for the Shortlist Prize have been announced:

Air's "Talkie Walkie"
Dizzee Rascal's "Boy in Da Corner"
Franz Ferdinand's self-titled debut
Ghostface Killah's "The Pretty Toney Album"
Killers' "Hot Fuss"
Loretta Lynn's "Van Lear Rose"
Nellie McKay's "Get Away From Me"
Streets' "A Grand Don't Come for Free"
TV On The Radio's "Desparate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes"
Wilco's "A Ghost Is Born"

Any guess as to which of those I would like to see win?

The Sound of Science

I wish it were possible to quantify just how much of my current knowledge of the world around me came from Schoolhouse Rock. Sometimes I'll hear something that will remind me of one of those cartoons and begin singing the song. Come on, how else do I know about adverbs and bills (just bills) and conjunctions and the fact that three is a magic number? I had a teacher who relied on the films to teach half of her classes. It gave her the opportunity to make sure she had all of her scratch-and-sniff stickers up to code.

Before Schoolhouse Rock, there was Singing Science. These folky bits try to answer some of those head scatchers that confound all of us, such as "How Does a Cow Make Milk?"

{Link via dozer.}

Pecan Trees and Steeples

I can hear a lot in my mom's voice when I talk to her on the phone in these post-Ivan days. I can tell that she's glad to be alive, to have a house with only minor damage, to know that all of her friends survived. I can also hear a little bit of anger: anger at a government that felt the need to ignore a small, rural town despite the widespread damage, anger at the people who seem more concerned with beach houses than with actual homes, anger at the storm itself for doing this to her town.

I've never mentioned the town my parents live in by name. No reason really. Although I spent six years there, graduated from high school there, and my parents still call it home, I was never a fan of Atmore. Never felt at home or even called it a home, often lying to people, telling them I was from Pensacola or Mobile, somewhere not as "backwoods" or "backwards" as I felt this town, my parents' town, was. After all, it wasn't my decision to move there and since moving away for good in the late eighties, I've been back only to see my mom and dad. I sneak in and out of there as if I were Madonna hiding from the paparazzi.

Then this hurricane hit and 2000 miles away I'm feeling a certain surge of memories. I think of the old pecan tree in the very back of my parents' yard, the one that my dad tied a rope in. My brother and I would spend hours on that rope, jumping off a ladder, swinging in a line dangerously close to the massive trunk, sometimes hitting it with a force that proved the theory of the immovable object. We'd use that tree as a home base for hide-and-go-seek, a target for the ninja-period throwing stars, the marker for homeruns or sometimes home plate, depending on the wind direction. Ivan knocked it down, picked it up at the roots, rope swing and all, and dropped it in the middle of a yard littered with other trees.

My dad says that Atmore will never be same in his lifetime. It's hard to imagine just how much damage has been done. I've seen only a few pictures of the town but from what I've heard and read, it's a nightmare of destruction, trees splitting houses and crushing cars, roofs blown off of homes and businesses, the steeple toppled from the First Baptist Church. What most upsets my mom, she said yesterday, is the fact that Atmore was on the brink of disappearing anyway, that without some miracle it might never recover. And that would truly be sad.

***

The last five days, I've spent too much time following the coverage from Pensacola. The city's newspaper has posted an amazing number of photographs of the area. They've also used Blogger technology to update readers on the recovery effort.

My wife is from Pensacola and I lived there for a while before moving to San Diego. Elaine and I have been able to contact almost all of our friends and it seems that everyone is ok. In many ways, we dread going back at Christmas because it will be then that we will face the reality of the destruction and see all of those familiar landmarks damaged, or in many cases completely destroyed.

I read where one person said that this was Pensacola's 9-11, the only difference being that there is no one to blame, nothing to strike back at. "You can't bomb a hurricane."