Home By Six

Intermission

2008-04-02T21:15:00.000-07:00

On hiatus while I figure out what to do with the blog.

In the meantime, feel free to follow me on Twitter.

Stickshifts and safetybelts: Part 1

2007-11-18T22:53:00.000-08:00

For a commuter like myself who spends upwards of 14 hours a week sitting behind the steering wheel of the same vehicle, few events can trigger such introspection and careful thought as the possibility of replacing this vehicle with another. It's not just a new steering wheel to hang on to — it affects the world's perception of you, and your perception of yourself. Not a choice to be made lightly.

When my current car started breaking its record of good behavior a couple weeks ago, I knew it was time. It had climbed the hill of its halcyon years, and was now descending the other side towards the valley of rust, repairs, and ruin. It was going to start draining my wallet, and it was time to move on and up. I needed to buy a car.

Knowing virtually nothing about the world of cars, I blindly jumped on my universal solution for needs such as this: Craigslist. I picked an arbitrary price range and started picking out cars that I knew. My only guidance was my loyalty to Nissan (caused by a great run with my first car, a '91 Sentra) and my general dislike of domestic models.

Very quickly, I learned that I was going about this process backwards. In a less populous region, it might be necessary to throw a line out and see what's available. But in the Bay Area one could almost guarantee that any model imaginable would be available — much easier to simply identify a few specific models and years to search for, and go from there.

First, I ruled out the Camry, Corolla, Accord, and other famously reliable but mind-numbingly boring models. I needed something with a little more sport this time.

Upon the recommendation of a friend, I checked out some decade-old BMWs and Audis. I have to admit, I loved the idea of owning a BMW. I've heard nothing but good things about how reliable they are, how fun they are to drive, and of course the good looks didn't hurt either. One particular listing caught my attention: a 1997 BMW 318i with upgraded halo headlights, an M3 bumper, and otherwise spotless condition. Its location in Sacramento seemed a bit far to ask my current car to take me — like asking an ex-girlfriend to drive you to your fiancé's house — but I set up a tentative test drive anyway.

Just to keep things sensible, I also pursued an 1999 Audi A4, a 2003 Mazda Protege, and a 2001 VW Jetta. The Jetta and Protege, as it happens, were a stone's throw from my apartment, so I tested them out first.

I'd never done a real test drive before, except in my Midwestern hometown with my parents asking most of the questions. Aiming to be over-prepared, I brought a notepad with the car's basic stats, a camera to snap a few pictures, a flashlight (stupid daylight savings time), and my best bargaining tactics.

The Jetta owners were super nice and very honest about the car. No cruise control, no power windows, no power seats, and a few buttons didn't work. But it drove exactly as I'd expect a Jetta to drive: very predictably. In fact, "predictable" is exactly the right word for the Jetta. Nothing about it is unexpected or out of the ordinary. It's an all-around good car. But I wanted something with a hint of a playful streak. After a couple days of pondering, I politely declined.

Next on my list was the Protege. I'd like to say it was love at first sight, but that's probably completely untrue. The eyeball-grabbing blue color (described as "electric blue" by the owner) immediately turned me off. In comparison to the shiny black exterior and soft black leather interior of the BMWs I had been looking at, it looked like a toy. But I had driven a Mazda 3 rental for a couple weeks, and I knew this one was an apple from the same tree. I had to give it a chance.

After I got past the color and gave it a drive, I was consistently impressed. It was snappy on the acceleration and steering, was fun to drive, and more importantly it had a sunroof. Yes, I opened up the sunroof and all the windows and floated onto the freeway, ignoring the lack of sun, warmth, or anything that would justify opening the sunroof and windows. The clean title, meticulous records, and excellent condition of the car sealed the deal: this one was my favorite so far.

I wasn't quite ready to give up on my luxury European dream, though. Rather than going to Sacramento, I set up another test drive with a 1996 BMW 318i in San Francisco. I figured I should at least drive one around the block, and if the experience really blew me away I'd head over to Sacramento and give the souped-up one a chance.

That's when things started getting shady. I showed up at the agreed time and place, and soon after, a large BMW X5 pulled up and two guys who looked like bouncers got out and approached me. "Come this way, we'll drive you to it," one said. I probably looked like one of the Hardy Boys with my flashlight and notebook, as I stepped up into the SUV and was whisked away. I made small talk with the driver en route, since his friend only seemed to speak an Eastern European language I didn't recognize. He told me the 318i was in great shape, ready to sell.

We crossed through the gate into Seacliff and drove around until we found the car, which, they pointed out to me, was parked across the street from the house of Robin Williams. (I use the term "house" loosely. More like a shack, really.)

Red flags went up as soon as I saw the car. The BMW "318i" logo had been pried off the back of the car and replaced with a sloppily-attached M3 logo. The car sat lower to the ground than it should, indicating that somebody had messed with the suspension (even though the dealer denied this). There were scratches all over the outside as well. The dealer noticed that I had noticed these, and countered, "Good as new." Oh, if you say so.

Putting all that aside, I focused on doing what I came to do: to find out whether it would be as fun to drive as they say. I got inside the cramped interior and started it up, glancing down to locate the basic controls. I looked up and realized I could barely see through the windshield; it was yellow and scratched like it had been parked on a windy, sandy beach for most of its life.

At this point, no amount of test-drive-induced exuberance would overcome my disdain for the condition of this car, so I drove it around for a while and left it at that.

After weighing the various options (by putting them in an Excel spreadsheet and ranking them by various formula-calculated criteria, of course!) I decided the Protege was the best bet. It had about 100,000 fewer miles than the European cars I was looking at, and it reminded me fondly of my old Sentra. After canceling my last BMW ~~pipe dream~~ test drive in Sacramento, I called the Protege owner and arranged a final meetup.

One more time walking around the car — I hadn't yet seen it in daylight, after all — and once I was satisfied we proceeded to fill out the paperwork. A few minutes later, I was driving my bright blue toy back home.

Two questions remain: Was it worth it? And who will buy my old car? Stay tuned.

Skyscrapers irradiated with rock music

2007-09-16T21:19:00.000-07:00

Lo and behold, my band is fortunate enough to have not one, not two, but three gigs on our calendar in the span of about a month. (Actually, fortune didn't nearly as much to do with it as the hard work of our singer-slash-manager Charlie.)

The first of the shows was last night at the Beale St. Bar, and we rocked the vinyl roof off the place. Three bands preceded us, and they ranged from decent to spectacular. I was especially impressed by the local hard rock band Deeper, who I may have convinced to play with us again sometime. Kristy blasted the audience with the stage presence of a true rock star. Grrl rkrs rule!

Our next show is on next Saturday. It's not hard to imagine that it would be fun to do this full-time. But I think I know better.

Bay Bridge construction worker mixtape

2007-09-03T14:05:00.000-07:00

Here's one for all the guys working on the bridge this weekend. Enjoy!

1. "Singing Bridge" by Rachel's from Systems/Layers
2. "Terremoto Tempto (Earthquake Weather)" by Beck from Guerolito
3. "Riding The Skies (remix by Mass & Simon Emmerson)" by Afro Celt Sound System from POD
4. "No Cars Go" by The Arcade Fire from Neon Bible
5. "C-C (You Set The Fire In Me)" by Tom Vek from We Have Sound
6. "Time 2 Build (feat. Blade)" by The Herbaliser from Something Wicked This Way Comes
7. "Crane/White Lightning" by The RZA & Charles Bernstein from Kill Bill, Vol. 1
8. "East Of Paradise" by Tribe Of Judah from Exit Elvis
9. "Subtle Hustle" by Clutch from Blast Tyrant
10. "Simple Design" by Breaking Benjamin from We Are Not Alone
11. "Dig (Everything And Nothing remix)" by Mudvayne from Resident Evil
12. "Positive Tension (Blackbox remix)" by Bloc Party from Silent Alarm Remixed
13. "The Colossal Gray Sunshine (feat. The Flaming Lips) (Paul Oakenfold Remix)" by Faultline from Perfecto Presents: The Club
14. "The Bridge" by The Knife from Deep Cuts
15. "Never Gonna Come Back Down" by BT from Movement In Still Life

The road to Houston

2007-09-03T10:55:00.000-07:00

At some point in the last few months, Sib got restless. Working at 7-11 and living in a big California city started to bore him, and he and I started discussing potential regions of the country he could visit to break the cycle. I recommended that he take an extended road trip across the country to see the U.S. from eye level and get a sense of where he wanted to be. After deliberating for a few weeks, he decided to skip the trial period entirely and move to Houston to work in a Thai restaurant.

I tried to explain the differences in culture and climate between California and Texas to him, but I'm not sure he completely absorbed it all. Like anybody who grew up watching American movies, he was familiar with (and actually seemed to admire) the concept of a cowboy, but I feared this wasn't enough to prepare him. In the days before he left, he kept saying, "I'm going to Houston," as if the next time he said it would magically transport him there.

He left on a Tuesday morning, with his black Audi full of the few things he owned, snacks for the trip, and a U.S. highway atlas which I had carefully highlighted for him the night before. He decided to take I-80 to Denver, then I-70 to Kansas and south to Texas. The path was simple, and I told him it would take three days.

Somewhere in Kansas, he decided he really wasn't so bored of California after all, and did a U-turn. Luckily, he decided to stop in a small town diner, where he was immediately greeted by the typical Midwestern hospitality. They gathered around him and excitedly asked questions about where he was from and where he was going. They offered him food and driving advice, and generally restored his faith in humanity. He got back on the interstate and continued to Texas.

He's been there for almost two weeks now, and he's ready to come back. He calls me every night complaining about the hot weather, the rain, the crazy drivers, and asking about how life in California is without him. I'm guessing it will be mere days until he gets in the car and starts driving back. And then we can continue our Thai food and racquetball traditions.

Jack of all instruments, master of none

2007-08-12T23:41:00.000-07:00

Finally surfacing again, and this week's theme is restlessness. I was supposed to be vacationing back home in the Midwest now, relaxing with the family in my college town. But because of some unfortunate scheduling at work, my plans got pushed off until next month. Now I'm looking for an outlet for some surplus energy.

Luckily that's exactly why I'm in a band. It's a much more official group now, because we've had our first public show. We played at a bar in the Mission, and it went very well. We sounded good, got some good feedback from the sound tech, and a half-dozen screaming girls made us do an encore. Good ego boost.

Since then, I've been more convinced than ever that this could turn into a serious hobby for me. I've reached a plateau as far as my drumming goes, so I've been looking to challenge myself in other ways. First, I've been writing songs for the first time, and they haven't turned out as badly as I was expecting them to. I'm no poet, but the lyrics and riffs I've scraped together seem to fit our straight-ahead rock style.

I'm also looking to fill out the sound of the band by putting as many of my limbs to work as possible. On a few of our songs, I've been playing drums and keyboards simultaneously with some success. (It's easier than finding a keyboard player on Craigslist, believe me.) And recently I acquired a loop pedal, which will hopefully allow me to pre-program some keyboard work and cue it up with a tap of the foot. This really works great on some songs, but on others I'm struggling to find a way to build up the loops and synths without sounding like a corny 80s band.

Of course, the music that comes out of me depends a lot on the music that's been going into me. Actually, I've noticed a shift in my listening habits in the last few months. I used to listen to a song and think, "Could I play this?" Now I'm finding myself asking "Could I write this?" The answer is usually no, but it won't stop me from trying.

Here are a few of my favorites lately:

Metric - "Hardwire"
I'd be blessed to have half the talent of Emily Haines, although I'll pass on the squeakish voice. This song really catches my attention because of the awesomely simple keyboard riff in the last third of the song.

Bat for Lashes - "Horse and I"
I've only recently discovered Bat for Lashes, but I think it's genius. I also have a soft spot for the harpsichord, and adding a snare march pattern clinches the deal. Wonderful.

Home Video - "Sleep Sweet"
Recommended if you like Radiohead. While my car was getting fixed up after its freeway mishap, I was driving a silver Mazda 3 rental for a while. (I loved it.) But since it only had a CD player and no iPod input, Home Video's No Certain Night or Morning was the chosen disc. Whenever this song came on, I felt like I was in a car commercial. Closed course, professional driver, etc.

The Polyphonic Spree - "Section 29 (Light to Follow)"
The lo-fi drums at the beginning of this song are one of the things I can do pretty easily on my new loopy gizmo. Unlike the Spree, my band doesn't have a gazillion people in it.

Nine Inch Nails - "In This Twilight" (and all of Year Zero, really)
I was skeptical about this album when people recommended it to me. With Teeth was decent, but seemed to wander. Upon giving the new one a listen, though, I was a believer. There are all kinds of great things to learn about the proper use of modern synthesizers here.

The Electric Soft Parade - "If That's the Case, Then I Don't Know"
Synth-rock with an ear-infecting bass/guitar riff. They've got plenty of other great songs too, it turns out. Why didn't anybody tell me about these guys sooner?

The Cinematics - "Sunday Sun"
Saw these guys with Mutemath, and thoroughly enjoyed their songs. This was my favorite. Mind-numbingly simple guitar riff and song structure, courtesy of Beck. Love it.

Blonde Redhead - "The Dress"
Very subtle use of drums and keyboards in the intro give it that distinctive dark atmosphere. The looped breathing noises are a little creepy, but that's their thing.

Menomena - "Airaid"
This is exactly the kind of piano sound I could see myself doing. Something really sparse and uncluttered (because I'd have to play it with my retarded left hand while my right hand does the drumming).

!!! - "Must Be The Moon"
Q: How do you pronounce "!!!"? A: Who cares? Shut up and dance.

Junior Boys - "Caught in a Wave"
See? Synthesizers can be sexy.

One week with my iPhone

2007-07-08T09:48:00.000-07:00

Not many first-generation Apple products pull me in so completely that I make up my mind that I'm going to buy it within the first few minutes of seeing it. I was famously skeptical of the iPod when it debuted in 2001. When any new Mac is introduced, I nod in approval, but my own computer upgrades are based on how badly abused my current Mac is, rather than how impressive the new ones are.

But the iPhone was immediately different. I watched Steve Jobs demonstrate it on the stage at Macworld and from that point on I couldn't help but look at my Treo in disdain. (Or rather, more disdainfully than usual.) I joined the other moths and crowded around the rotating iPhones sealed in their plastic pedestals on the expo floor, and I knew I'd be buying one.

Since then, the iPhone hype has reached previously unknown heights. Apple has masterminded a brilliant buzz marketing campaign, but I'm not sure it was entirely intentional. The device is so revolutionary and fixes so many of the things people hate about other so-called "smart" phones that it's hard for me to imagine it getting any less attention than it has, regardless of the smooth ads and rumor-fanning secrecy.

The din of fanboys gushing and critics scoffing increased in amplitude, until the moment of truth: Friday at 6 PM, when credit cards around the world screamed in interest-bearing horror. I was staring at the back of the car in front of me somewhere on First Street waiting to get onto the Bay Bridge. Although I had resigned myself to fate and admitted I'd be buying one of the glorious gadgets, I refused to wait in line for it. Mac zealots love to line up for things. Apple Store openings, the Macworld expo, whatever they can do to support their favorite fruit-themed company. I planned to avoid the crowds and calmly go online and buy one from the Apple site. Then I found out the estimated shipping time was 2-4 weeks. Screw that. I got in line.

After 45 minutes of waiting, I had my iPhone in hand. I took it home and cracked open the beautiful box. In the week since then, I've found that the iPhone backs up the hype by being functional, easy, and most of all fun to use. There are definitely still a few quirks (which I will now proceed to nitpick about), but overall it's a wonderful little gadget. So here's my rundown:

iPod

No surprise here, the phone plays music. It works pretty well, too, although I have had the music stop suddenly during particularly demanding web browsing sessions. More on that in a second.

CoverFlow is simply eye candy in iTunes, but on a touchable interface like the iPhone the metaphor becomes much stronger. You're actually touching your music, flipping through CDs on a swivel-rack. Although I just put it on shuffle most of the time, it's nice to be able to do this.

Safari

Like everybody's heard by now, the iPhone doesn't support Java applets or Flash embedded on websites. Some people have speculated that this is some kind of shot across the bow of Adobe by Apple, but I think they simply omitted the two technologies that would prevent mobile browsing from being a stable and seamless experience. Word on the street is that Flash is coming soon, so we'll see.

In any case, it's really nice to be able to browse the web in somewhat full-quality. Being able to rotate the screen to view a wider page is a nice trick, too. In my experience, Safari on the iPhone does tend to trip over itself and "crash" relatively frequently, but since the app launches in seconds and remembers the last page it was on, it's little more than an annoyance. A more serious issue is the fact that the iPod app sometimes seems to crash in the background while I'm browsing, causing me to need to return to it and restart the music. Multitaskers beware.

Phone

By the way, the iPhone does also make and receive phone calls. It's hard to imagine a slicker interface for this. When you receive a call, you swipe your finger across the screen to answer it. While you're on the call, there are a series of buttons allowing you to do basic phone things like speakerphone, switching to the keypad, and mute. There's even a ridiculously easy "add call" button for starting a conference call with multiple people, and when you've got two people on separate lines, there's a "merge call" button allowing you to get everybody together. As somebody who never really figured out my Treo's "swap" and "hold" functions, I greatly appreciate this.

I haven't heard this from many others, but I've found the speakerphone function to be unusably quiet, even on maximum volume. It's probably just because I'm losing my hearing playing the drums.

Battery Life

If the iPod is any indication, we should be hearing people start bitching about the iPhone's non-removable battery six months from now or so. Personally, I'm not worried. So far, I've only run the battery completely down once, and that was intentional. (I'm still superstitious about battery memory, so I do a full drain/charge cycle upon purchasing any gadget.) Most days, I come home and the battery is still at 80% or higher. That will probably change once I start watching movies on BART.

The Bottom Line

There are plenty of features I'm glossing over: the awesome earbuds with built-in microphone/clicker, and visual voicemail, the tricky but useful onscreen keyboard, etc. But the bottom line is I couldn't be happier with the iPhone. I drank the Kool-Aid, and it tasted great.

Swapping paint

2007-06-13T22:42:00.000-07:00

Aside from the occasional parallel parking nudge, my car had never touched another car while I've been behind the wheel. I've been justifiably proud of that fact, especially after spending two accident-free years in California. However, the freeway gods thought I was doing a little too well for myself in the highway karma area, so they sent a Toyota SUV careening into my driver's-side door on Friday.

The driver didn't notice the line of cars ahead of him had come to an abrupt stop, and in order to avoid plowing into the back of the car ahead of him, he swerved across the lane directly to his right. Unfortunately for me, I was the sole occupant of that lane.

All three of us (he ended up hitting the car in front of him despite his maneuver) pulled over into the median and exchanged information. Everyone was OK, and all our cars were still drivable. But now my car has a sizeable dent across the driver's side, and generally looks like caca.

I guess it had to happen eventually.

Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)

2007-06-06T22:45:00.000-07:00

Friday night the Arcade Fire played in Berkeley, and I did my usual ritual: sitting on the hill behind the stadium and listening in. I invited some friends, some of which showed up.

It was a good time, but that’s not the point of this story. They have a song called “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out),” which is a fitting title for a tale about my Thai friend Sib.

Sib doesn’t get mentioned on my blog much, because he’s kind of a constant presence and I forget that many of our adventures are worthy of blogging about.

We play racquetball on a regular basis, go out for Thai food a couple times a week, and sometimes ride our bikes along the bayshore trail. Nothing terribly exciting.

But sometimes he leads me into the looking glass of his culture and I end up at some point looking around and wondering what the heck is going on. Saturday night was one of those times.

We headed towards Solano Avenue to grab some pad se-ew at Boran, a great Thai place we discovered a couple weeks ago. When we arrived, we were met at the door by the owner, who waved us off and said they were closed due to a power outage.

We walked up and down the street for a few blocks and found other similarly affected businesses. Strangely though, some of the buildings had power, including a shop selling lamps.

We returned to Boran and they invited Sib and me inside, even though they still had no food to offer. There were about seven workers, all wearing aprons and looking out casually onto the dusk-lit street. We sat around in the dark for 15 minutes or so and waited. They spoke in Thai, but I could tell they were talking about the cars that were driving by from the occasional familiar words: “Nissan,” “Toyota,” “Chevy.” Candles were lit throughout the restaurant; it would have been a great setting to bring a date if it wasn’t for the lack of food.

After a while, Sib’s hunger overcame his desire for conversation, and we moved on down the street to another Thai restaurant. Although they also didn’t have any power, they were still open. The kitchen was very dark, but several people were huddled over candles and a gas stove.

We ordered, and one of the waiters commented, “You must feel like celebrities, with the restaurant closing for you.” It was bizarre, and became moreso when the sun set and the street outside was dark and quiet except for passing headlights. It felt almost rural.

Burning bridges

2007-05-01T23:20:00.000-07:00

I must admit, I haven't been living up to my subhead lately. There's all kinds of reporting to be done about the Bay Bridge traffic in the last few days, but I'll defer to the other sources that have it covered nicely.

I'll just add that even though the mayhem happened right outside my window, the explosion and 200-foot flames didn't wake me up. The sound of news helicopters hovering at 6 AM, on the other hand... that's when I knew something was up.

I turned on the TV and saw the same image burned in every Bay Area motorist's retina: freeways piled on top of each other, blackened by fire, and flashing lights on all sides (preventing the Duke boys from jumping the General Lee across). And here I was needing to get to the Oakland airport so I could spend a week in St. Louis for work. Luckily, my cabbie knew a good detour.

I'm now watching the messed-up commute from 2000 miles away and hoping it'll work itself out by next Monday when I have to drive to work again. Good luck with that.

Two tours in two days

2007-05-01T22:23:00.000-07:00

Suddenly San Francisco is the place to be, I guess. Last week I had not one but two visitors, and both got proper tours of the city.

Rachel was the first ~~victim~~ guest, and we took most of a day to walk around Fisherman's Wharf, down Lombard, through North Beach and Chinatown, and along Market Street. Then we jumped in the car and hit Alamo Square, Ocean Beach, the Golden Gate, and a quick hop over to the East Bay.

Matt was the next, and since he was only in town for a short time I gave him the condensed tour after work. We still walked up Hyde and down Lombard, but to "save time" we journeyed back to the car by going directly over Telegraph Hill and all its thousands of steps.

I don't mind paying for the gas, but I think I might have to start asking for donations in the form of new shoes.

Not my scene

2007-04-08T23:25:00.000-07:00

Last Halloween my friend and bandmate Nate had a party at his vast Chinatown apartment with what seemed like several dozen very attractive and scantily clad people, and I put on my lame pirate costume and did my best not to be a wallflower.

The place itself defined the party. It's a two-story with about a dozen rooms being shared by five guys and their various female companions. There's a circle of fuzzy couches, walls lined with mirrors, a hookah on the patio, a fully stocked bar with real barstools, and (I kid you not) a stripper pole.

People who know me will attest to the fact that although I'm very outgoing most of the time, I can be very introverted when surrounded by strangers. Thus, it's hard for me to be successful in the traditional boy-meets-girl way at parties. I did meet a nice girl named Susan who I got along well with and probably should have gone after, but the whole scenario felt unnatural. I ended up going home early feeling slightly sorry for myself.

Fast forward to Easter 2007, and Nate and his flatmates have another party. This one is bunny themed. The girls are dressing up as "bunnies gone bad," and the invitees are encouraged to "multiply like rabbits." It's obviously a venue for over-affectionate couples to publicly display their over-affection.

Instead of attending the skin show, I went on a 5 mile hike through a canyon in Berkeley with Amanda, then grabbed dinner and a movie. It was a great time, without the need for cheap beer and cheap pick-up lines.

Kids these days and their webcams

2007-04-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

I'm not a fan of reality TV of any sort, primarily because "reality" is such an inaccurate description. Sure, it's mostly unscripted, but the writers purposely pick the individuals and situations most likely to cause extreme drama and the resulting boost in ratings. Although people's reactions are authentic, the environment they're reacting to is pure fabrication. (Volumes have or should have been written about this by now.)

However, despite this I've recently become interested in a two-week old website produced by a guy in San Francisco who claims he's going to wear a webcam on his head until the day he dies. It's called Justin.tv, and it's already generating some press. Justin's eventual goal is to find a way to make a living with live web content.

It draws obvious parallels to the ill-fated JenniCam of 10 years ago, but technology has enhanced our voyeur experience since then: Now we can hear the boredom instead of only watching it. It also brings to mind The Truman Show (one of my favorites), only in this case it's voluntary (and not nearly as funny).

How long will he go before realizing this is a really bad idea? My money is on a year or so.

The Sports Racer legacy

2007-03-18T17:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the Internet lost one of its crown jewels. Head over to The Show to pay your last respects.

Ze is certainly going on to bigger and better things. I predict we'll see him in Hollywood someday. But The Show leaves behind quite a legacy:

Ze commissioned teams of his followers to construct an Earth Sandwich using two pieces of bread placed on opposite ends of the planet, and succeeded. (And landed on NPR.)
He challenged the viewers to a chess game in which they would use a Wiki to bring the combined efforts of the community. He lost, and he and Jonathan Coulton performed (really great) renditions of his various songs as a reward.
After hearing a song some guy named Ray made for his daughter, he had viewers remix the song. Then the mob tracked down Ray, and Ze flew to him to present the best remixes in person.
Somebody traveled across the United States during spring break last year using only Ze's viewing audience for travel and lodging.
Many, many concise and insightful analyses of various subjects, including branding, the decentralization of media, the creative process, Midwestern politeness, national unity, videoblogging, being thankful, and on and on.

And of course, there's the general accomplishment of producing a show with humor, news, commentary, and random strange bits all rolled into one, five days a week, for a year.

The Show, and the resulting forum and social network, demonstrated the best of what can happen when strangers connect through the Internet, in the non-creepy sense. Although I wasn't a big part of that community, it impressed me even as an observer. Thanks, Ze.

Throwing off the covers

2007-02-26T23:22:00.000-08:00

No matter where I've lived or what stage of life I've been in, one thing has always remained the same: I'm always in some well-intentioned yet half-cooked musical project. In high school, playing Led Zeppelin in somebody's garage was just a reason to hang out. In college, having a band perform at school functions was a way to interest the girls. And now, a macho punk-rock cover band is my after-work stress outlet.

That is, until the band stopped practicing. We haven't met for over two months at this point, and the outlook is looking grim. Of course, Charlie and I saw this coming a few months ago and formed our own side project in response. (Bands are like habits. You don't quit, you just displace one with another.)

One of our main things is that we should play more original songs than covers. Sure, it's fun to play other people's music, crowds love it, and it's easier than being creative. But sometimes there's that itch (which can take many forms, up to and including a drunk guy in the back of the bar shouting "play your own stuff!").

To that end, I borrowed the keyboard and started plucking out melodies. Everything I produced ended up sounding like Coldplay, but I guess that's not a horrible start. I even got ambitious enough to write a couple of actual songs, words and all. (One of them is a stream of dialogue from a Law and Order episode I was watching. It works, really.)

Of course, beauty is in the ear of the beholder, so we had to make the side project official by performing at a friend's birthday party this last weekend. Although I stayed very nervous about intruding on the usual techno and hip-hop party dancefest
vibe, the reception we got pleasantly surprised me. I guess the fact that our slightly-tipsy host danced furiously in front of us for much of the performance helped capture the crowd's attention.

And I successfully played the drums and piano at the same time, like the pretentious Radiohead-aping drama-rocker I am. Watch out, Jake Slichter.

Next, we'll be taking auditions from Craigslist for bass and keyboard players. Any ideas for a name?

Putting miles on the bike

2007-02-19T11:02:00.000-08:00

Saturday's high of 68 degrees gave me more than enough inspiration to get onto my new bike and ride around the city, literally (see map).

I started on the Embarcadero, headed down Market, and took Haight to Golden Gate Park and through to the ocean. I called to antagonize a couple of friends back in the Midwest. (Pointing out that I'm walking barefoot on a beach in the middle of February usually elicits one of two responses: "When can I visit?" or "Screw you." Sometimes both.)

After soaking in the salt and sand, I got back on the bike and headed up to Seacliff. Whenever I'm in that area I feel like I've stumbled onto the set of the O.C. — picturesque houses with picturesque views of the Golden Gate; picturesque luxury cars parked in front and picturesque girls in bikinis walking towards the picturesque beach. And cut! OK people, take five.

Up into the Presidio the road became much more vertical and the more serious bicyclists began to pass me. (You can tell they're serious because they wear the expensive jerseys that make it look like they're training for the Tour de France.)

One of my favorite parts of biking is weaving between people and cars on a wide sidewalk or street. I had plenty of chance to do that near Crissy Field, Fisherman's Wharf, and down the Embarcadero on my way back home. Of course, I made the requisite stop at In-N-Out before my trip came to an end.

Today I've got the day off and I think I'll ride around Berkeley. Gotta get in shape for the Tour de France, you know.

Three mile walk

2007-02-14T23:20:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day always used to give me a chance to demonstrate my theatric emo side, dressing up in black and declaring my singleness to the world. But since I moved to California, I've opted out of that particular tradition. It seems superfluous in a city full of single strangers who, like me, don't consider romance a big priority.

I'm trying to change, though. I've gone on several dates, the most recent of which was with a charming ex-Bostonian named Jess. A couple months ago, Jess ended up working as a temp at one of my clients. We got along well immediately and bonded over some shared interests, but my professionalism kept me from pursuing anything further.

Of course, the minute she left the agency, I asked her on a date.

We met on Sunday at a cafe in Oakland and grabbed some hot chocolate, then started walking aimlessly north towards Berkeley. One moment early on solidified my enthusiasm. I had painstakingly prepared a mix CD for her (as I often do to avoid using plain English to express myself to women). We hadn't planned an exchange, but I thought it would be a nice gesture. But before I could present it to her, though, she handed me a mix CD of her own. Ha!

Our short walk turned into a three mile stroll along College Avenue while we discussed music, movies, favorite architectural periods, and plenty else. After a couple of hours, we both agreed to extend our outing by grabbing some dinner and a movie (The Departed, of course). After the movie, I drove her back to her car and we promised to meet again soon.

I'm not sure what It is, where It's going, or whether It is what I think it should be. But that's the fun part of dating — the potential, the unknown. That and the mix CDs.

Two shows

2007-02-04T09:15:00.000-08:00

NOFX

Charlie emailed me on Wednesday and said he had an extra ticket to a NOFX show, and would I like to go? It's my Kryptonite — I can't say no to live music. Of course I'd go. I went home and changed into my best impression of a Hot Topic model, and then we headed out to Slim's.

Upon arrival, it was apparent that I would be the recipient of the Poser Award for the night. When the music started, everyone sang along. Dyed hair, leather jackets, and chain wallets defined the fashion; and the spikes — spiked hair, spiked chokers, spiked bracelets, spiked belts, all black like their lonely hearts. And then there was me, who didn't know any of the songs and didn't have any spiky accessories.

As is the punk rock custom, a mosh pit quickly formed and began churning. The kids with the aforementioned spiky things began shoving, jumping, and twirling on, around, and into each other. Sometimes a human shock wave came my direction and compressed the people around me into a swaying mass of limbs. I spent most of the concert pressed between various cute punk girls trying to stay out of the nearby violence. (Not a bad situation to be in.)

What stuck me about this particular show was the strong sense of community displayed by the crowd. When somebody in the pit took an inevitable fall, all the nearby people immediately pulled them back up to their feet safely. It was like watching some kind of self-healing amoeba, constantly shifting, growing, and feeding itself. The energy of the crowd was tangible and contagious, and caused me to have a really great time despite being crushed, shoved, and spilled on.

Of Montreal and The Blow

I've been an Of Montreal fan for a few years now. Their way of melting electronic pop with progressive songwriting and stick-in-your-ear melodies hooked me quickly. The Sunlandic Twins was one of my favorite albums for a while, and their latest is working its way up on my playlist.

So when I learned that they'd be playing in SF, I immediately sought a ticket online. For some reason, the only ones I could find were listed at $60 and above. I wrote it off as too much and went on with life.

But this week I learned that The Blow, one of my favorite artists of 2006, would be opening for Of Montreal at the show. After a frantic search on Craigslist, I bought a ticket (at the face value of $16 plus charges, believe it or not).

Of Montreal was just as inexplicably bizarre as their music videos led me to expect. They were dressed (cross-dressed?) as a strange combination of the Three Musketeers in the 1620s and David Bowie in the 1970s. Projectors to the left, right, and above the stage displayed alternating images of psychedelic shapes and colors, live stage views, and an eclectic slide show of people taking various poses.

The really strange thing about this show was the audience of middle- and high-schoolers. Like, omigod.

Under curfew of BART, I didn't stay to see their requisite cover of Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy," or their big hit "Wraith Pinned to the Mist," but I still enjoyed what I did hear.

The real highlight of the show for me was without a doubt the performance of Khaela Maricich as one half of tech-pop group The Blow. Every aspect of her performance radiated a sort of brave innocence. She made a meek entrance onto the stage and subsequently stared at the audience like a newborn exploring the delivery room, and then she began her first song accompanied only by the beat of her finger on the microphone.

From that point, she opened up a bit more and began to dance like a character in a stop-motion film, accompanied by the dismembered beats of her musical partner Jona Bechtolt like a karaoke singer. And karaoke was certainly the theme of the night; between songs Khaela told quirky rambling stories of running aimlessly from one Portland karaoke bar to another during a "strange state of mind." In fact, she confessed that she wrote one of her songs during one of these sprints, singing it into her voice mail as she ran.

Her performance of "Come On Petunia" (a tribute of sorts to "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" by the Police) became my favorite moment of the night. I hadn't heard the song before, and her coy, shuffling style was enthralling.

At the end of her final song, the audience went wild. Khaela seemed genuinely surprised at their enthusiasm, but she had earned every bit of it if you ask me.

Into the looking glass

2007-01-28T22:31:00.000-08:00

I just had a very geeky moment. Using my thin-client iBook G3, I controlled my main home computer using Apple Remote Desktop. From there, I connected to a computer at work to check on a backup process using Timbuktu remote control software. I then leapfrogged to the PC controlling backup using Microsoft Remote Desktop Connection. One of the computers was holding up the process, so I connected on the VPN and ARD to restart it.

That's five levels of remote control happening at once. Rube Goldberg would be proud.

Options

2007-01-27T17:46:00.000-08:00

I was just thinking the other day: one of the lovely things about living in the Bay Area is having options. Specifically, transportation options. The public transit here is among the best in the country, and walking or biking is made much easier by the fact that the entire city of San Francisco is merely a seven by seven mile square. Such options did not exist where I came from. If you wanted to get somewhere, you drove for a good long time. (Uphill both ways, no less.)

No sooner had I thought of this than I was given a very valid reason to rely on these options: My car broke down on the Bay Bridge.

It was about 8:00 and I was on the way home from band practice. Just beyond the midpoint of the west span, my steering wheel became difficult to turn and my brakes went stiff. A few seconds later, my battery light went on, my headlights dimmed, and my engine temperature began to climb quickly into the red. My car had decided to throw a tantrum, it seemed.

I quickly shut the engine off to avoid damaging anything and coasted downhill towards the Treasure Island exit with my hazard lights producing a flashing glow that invited concerned looks from passing drivers. Straining to make the sharp turn, I headed up and over a short hill, turning my engine on again briefly and giving it just enough gas to propel the car over the top.

I pulled over to the side of the road, got out, and opened the hood. The car's serpentine belt dangled limply between the engine block and the frame of the car. (Well, there's yer problem.)

On the subject of serpentine belts, Wikipedia has this to say:

Additionally, it is easier for the driver to know when the belt has broken, since this will cause the steering resistance to suddenly increase. With multiple belt systems, if a single belt breaks, such as the alternator belt, the driver may not realize that there is a problem until the engine fails completely.

Good to know.

I called AAA for some roadside assistance, which they dispatched. During the course of the next 30 minutes, several different people (including one SFPD cruiser) stopped to ask if I needed any help. After they rejected my offer to trade cars, I sent them away kindly.

When the tow truck arrived, I proudly pointed at the fallen belt and explained how it just needed to be put back on the pulleys. The tow truck driver looked at the belt and nodded. Then he turned to me like a comedian about to deliver his punchline and said, "You know I'm gonna have to tow you, right? That's what I do." How could I argue with that. They sent a tow truck, therefore I was getting towed. Q.E.D.

The driver made friendly banter while he backed the truck into position and instructed me to put the car in neutral with the emergency brake on. "Those guys at AAA, they don't care about you. That's my job. We're down here in the trenches, helpin' out the people. The guys on the phone, they don't help the people. They take your cash and thankyouverymuch. Know what I'm sayin?"

I summoned my streed cred voice. "Yeah. Amen to that."

A few minutes later, my car was propped up onto the back of the tow truck and bouncing violently along the onramp to the bridge. "This is where we get fancy," he said as he flipped on the swirling yellow flashers on top of the truck. Cars behind us immediately moved into an adjacent lane to give us room to enter. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd do," he taunted. Tow truck smack talk.

"You know you owe me for the toll, right? They don't cover that. And you got the basic plan, so it's $12 a mile past the first five. Cash only." I peered into my wallet, not completely convinced that I had enough.

My driver (whose name I later learned was Ralph) spoke at length about the humanitarian aspect of being a tow truck driver. "I love my job. And I'm good at it, too. I'm helping people, every day. It's a good job." I nodded my approval.

We passed several other disabled cars on the way (Ralph called them "treats" and said he'd come back for them later). Eventually, we arrived at my usual car shop in Berkeley and he put my car down in the parking lot.

After paying him, I didn't have much left for cab fare. But Ralph said, "Hop in." I looked at him skeptically. "I don't have any more cash," I said. "What do I look like, a cab driver?" So Ralph, being such a nice guy, gave me a pro bono ride back home, because it's in "his area" and I'm one of "his people." Word.

Moral of this story: Don't break down. But if you do, be sure you have available to you a carpool, BART, and a friendly tow truck driver named Ralph.

Surreal moment of the week: Green curry and Elmo

2007-01-14T23:18:00.000-08:00

Sib asked me to accompany him to dinner at a friend's house, because he said he needed "protection" from being kept by conversation long into the night. I didn't know how exactly I was going to provide that, but I wasn't about to turn down homecooked Thai food.

We arrived at the house in Castro Valley, removing our shoes upon entrance, and did the introductions. There was a thirty-something Thai man and his wife, their five-year-old son (whose name sounded like "Eggpoppin"), and a forty-something friend of the family.

Everyone spoke good English, but as Thai was their preferred language I was often left out of the conversation. I conversed with the one I knew I could communicate with — the kid. After we discovered a shared love of miniature trains, he tugged my arm into his room and showed me his elaborate electric train set with plastic tracks and Thomas the Tank Engine locomotive.

Dinner was served, and everyone was careful to warn me beforehand. "Little spicy," Sib said. "Try first." Perhaps the Thai food he's brought home has conditioned me somewhat, but I had no trouble at all. The man (I think his name was Ben) said if I could handle the green curry over noodles he had dished up, then I could handle nearly everything sold on Thailand streets.

As the discussion gradually turned non-English, my attention came to focus on the TV, where the Sesame Street "Learn to Count" video was playing per the demand of the youngster. It was in English, so it was the only thing in the room I understood clearly. Thus me and the five-year-old sat waiting on the edge of our seats to see what would happen when Ernie dinged the bell four times.

After dinner, as we had planned, I stretched and mentioned that we had better get going to play racquetball before the courts close. Sib nodded, we thanked our guests kop khun khrap for a delicious meal, and went on our way.

I had a full stomach and was confident in my ability to count to 20 in English. All in all, a productive evening.

Macworld fashion revue

2007-01-13T16:44:00.000-08:00

It's been said that Mac users are more educated, more affluent, and generally older than their PC-using counterparts. But one pressing question has never been addressed: Are they more fashionable? Let's take a tour around the Macworld expo floor to find out.

—  —

Submerged in a sea of Mac and Apple diehards, what better way to start than with a guy dressed like Steve Jobs. His name was Dan, and he sported the classic black turtleneck made famous by our fearless leader. When I pointed this out to him, he chuckled; I'm still not sure if he picked out the outfit intentionally or whether it was just a happy accident. In any case, imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.

—  —

Alicya, in addition to having a unique name, also represents a dying breed at Macworld: the booth babe. Depending on who you ask, the attractive young women hired to staff the displays at Macworld were arguably more interesting than the products they were hawking. (Alicya proved that true. I've forgotten which company she was representing.) Also, she's really much cuter in person. The pose she picked wasn't ideal for my quick snapshot, and I didn't want to creep her out by asking her to pick another. Or perhaps I had already passed the creepiness threshold. Meh.

—  —

After a little more wandering, I bumped into Al at a booth for some sort of music production software. He fit the bill: I imagine that his private jet was parked at SFO and ready to whisk him back to his recording studio in Hollywood at a moment's notice. He agreed to be photographed, but only if I didn't use flash. Clearly this guy's been paparazzied before.

—  —

Enter Chris stage right. Looking around nervously, he steps forward toward the display case containing the slowly rotating iPhone. He produces a bag of sand from his pocket and weighs it carefully, then dumps out two handfuls onto the floor. Beads of sweat form under the brim of his hat as he slowly reaches for the coveted gadget. Chris deliberates for a moment, then smoothly replaces the iPhone with the bag of sand. He stands in shock for a moment, amazed at what he's holding. Then reality sets in quickly with the realization that the display case is lowering into the ground and a 15 foot wide boulder is rolling quickly toward him from the other side of the expo hall. He clutches his trusty whip and dashes at the exit, poison darts flying from the walls on either side as he passes. Will our hero escape?

—  —

Kendall, another booth babe caught giving a demonstration to a potential customer in this shot. She's chosen to go with the classic Ralph Lauren buttoned-up white shirt peeking out from a comfortably homey Jones NY red sweater, and of course the ten gallon sponge cowboy hat by Leg Avenue. Clearly, she woke up this morning and wanted to make a classy statement. Bravo.

—  —

I spotted Austin and his friends swaggering around the show floor several times before I approached him for a photo. They had a very 90s slacker teen look. Maybe that's retro now. I think his shirt is a reference to Delicious Monster software. Very Mac geek chic.

—  —

Let's be honest: not all computer geek types are horribly devoid of rhythm or style. Take David, for example. He and two buddies cranked up the iPod stereos in the Harmon/Kardon booth and did a little breakdancing on the floor. They twirled and twisted and spun on their heads and somehow ended up right-side-up when the music stopped. That's what you call busting a move.

(Let's also be honest: David was hired for the day and probably couldn't care less about Macworld.)

—  —

Shirts with cute or ironic slogans in monospaced terminal type on a plain black background are a dime a dozen at tech events. This guy, Nathaniel, "plays well with others."

—  —

Eric was the kind of stereotypical bearded system administrator type that one expects to see at these sorts of conferences. Quite tall and wide, and equipped with a tie-dye shirt to drop ironic reference to Apple's former association with the counterculture and present acceptance into the mainstream (or perhaps not), he had the sort of two-handed handshake that made you feel warm inside. Give this guy an axe and some potions, and hope he's fighting for your guild.

—  —

Another booth babe handing out issues of MacDirectory, Amber was going for the more athletic look. (Although not quite as athletic as the fit women who were taking turns on the exercise bike at the XtremeMac booth.)

She was the only one who asked me what exactly I would be using her picture for. (And kudos to her for asking, I say.) Of course, I explained that I was doing a review for Blogger.com on the fashion of Macworld attendees. Technically true.

—  —

Erin caught my eye near the comfy couches and lounge chairs at the center of the south hall. Her dress contained the entire ASCII alphanumeric character set, in a black sans-serif font on a plain white background. I thought it was brilliant — and this is from a guy who wouldn't know the difference between crushed taffeta and double georgette jacquard even if they were labeled as such.

She eagerly dug into her handbag and produced a card with her name and website. My brain clicked up a gear. "Wait, so you made this?" "Yes," she said. I was impressed. Looking back, I should have asked her out for coffee or something. She seemed like a very interesting gal, and reading bits of her website proves that true. Ah well.

—  —

Of course, Macworld isn't just for the Mac users. I spotted this anonymous PC user — presumably a member of the media — at one of the overpriced coffee kiosks in the corners of the expo floor. I complimented him on his professional dress, which was enough to convince him to be photographed. He was sitting too far from the Apple pavilion to be affected by the Reality Distortion Field.

—  —

I tailed this guy halfway across the expo floor for a solid five minutes, working hard to keep up with his mousey darting between booths and nervous about-faces. When I finally reached him, he introduced himself as Kirk and was more than happy to stop for a picture. Guess what state he's from? (Hint: California.)

—  —

Outfitted with a stylish scarf, orange sweater, and cup of joe, Brian represented the perennial Mac yuppie. He walked fast like he knew where his destination was and how to get there, and stopped only briefly for the snapshot. He did mention, however, that the day was the five year anniversary of the opening of Guantánamo Bay detainment camp, and anybody who was wearing orange was doing so in political protest.

—  —

Last but not least, here's Trisha. She floated around between booths and tried desperately not to drop any of the superfluous promotional materials she had been accumulated throughout the morning. Clearly too polite to decline the mountain of brochures and pamphlets, she captured the ideal Macworld attendee for me: flustered, but having a great time.

—  —

So what have we learned from this exercise? Most people don't need much of an excuse to have their picture taken, that's what.

Much ado about something

2007-01-10T23:00:00.000-08:00

The rumors are true; the iPhone is real.

While there are still myriad questions to answer about the specifics, there's no question that the thing oozes coolness.

There's a great article in Time magazine. To quote:

When you need to dial, it shows you a keypad; when you need other buttons, the screen serves them up. When you want to watch a video, the buttons disappear. Suddenly, the interface isn't fixed and rigid, it's fluid and molten. Software replaces hardware.

I've always been partial to software over hardware. The drives and chips are all just means to an end; it's the software that lets you do the actual work.

The illusion of touching your music, voice mail, photos, and other data is going to be a powerful connector with people too. We'll see if that's enough to overcome the steep price and network lock-in.

More Macworld tomorrow. It's good to live here this week!

The year in music

2007-01-06T13:37:00.000-08:00

2007 can't officially start unless I compile a top-ten list of my favorite albums of 2006. Here we go, Letterman style.

10. Muse - Black Holes and Revelations

This somewhat lukewarm album suddenly delighted me after seeing Muse perform live at the Download Festival. Muse isn't well-respected among critics, because it's widely regarded as pretentious piano-rock for emo teenagers who haven't yet discovered Radiohead. It's also true that their wild musical theatrics and over-the-top melodrama distract from the superb musicianship of the group. But they put on a great live show, and there are some real standout tracks on this album. ("Supermassive Black Hole" and "Knights of Cydonia" are my favorites, although the closet Coldplay fan in me can't help but clap along with "Starlight.")

9. I'm Not A Gun - We Think As Instruments

I don't recall exactly where I discovered this group, but apparently they're about as obscure as you can get. They don't have a band website, their biography is missing from the All Music Guide, and even their Wikipedia article is blank. (OK, I suppose the fact that they have a Wikipedia article at all disqualifies me from calling them obscure.)

Nevertheless, this album has been a staple for clean, non-distracting "getting things done" music for me. When I want to write letters, clean the apartment, or just sit and read a magazine, this is the album playing when I do it.

That's not to say the album should be pigeonholed into the background music category by any means. It has great musical merit; I'm partial to the fat downtempo drum beats (in "Blue Garden" for example). I imagine that this is the kind of music I'd make if I made electronic music.

8. Califone - Roots and Crowns

File this group under "artists I've never heard of" until just recently, when Pandora introduced me to them on a Calexico-themed station. They're from a similar vein — dusty southwestern acoustic rock with a heavy atmosphere and understated vocals. "Pink and Sour" was the track that addicted me to the album, with its driving percussion. Other songs of note include the pleasant and sedate "The Orchids" and multi-stage "Black Metal Valentine," which starts out as a trippy march filled with echoes and background effects, and ends as a heartfelt guitar serenade.

7. Thom Yorke - The Eraser

You have to take what I say about Thom Yorke with a grain of salt, since I'm one of those über Radiohead fans that thinks everything he touches turns to gold. But I do think this was a very solid solo album. I give it 4 out of 5 crying robots.

6. Belle and Sebastian - The Life Pursuit

Many people had told me about Belle and Sebastian before this year, and to be honest I was never much of a fan. I can't put my finger on why not exactly — perhaps, like Neutral Milk Hotel, they were just too raw for me at first listen. But whatever it was, they completely caught me off guard with The Life Pursuit. Perhaps they've become more poppy in recent years, but it was just what I needed to start loving the twee septet.

My favorite tracks are "Another Sunny Day," "White Collar Boy," and "For The Price of a Cup of Tea."

5. The Whitest Boy Alive - Dreams

Back in the 90s I was fascinated by Semisonic. Lead singer and songwriter Dan Wilson crafted great lyrics and catchy melodies, and the group performed them in a way that wasn't too much or too little but just right. Their songs were the kind that you could learn to play yourself with relative ease by spending 15 minutes in front of a piano or guitar.

Now the voice behind Kings of Convenience brings us his side project, The Whitest Boy Alive, and they follow the same philosophy. The songs aren't complex or intricate. Heck, I could play most of them myself given about a day of studio time. But it's the simplicity of the songs that contains their appeal.

I especially recommend "Golden Cage," "Don't Give Up," and "Figures."

4. Kinky - Reina

After the rowdy spectacle they put on at the Download Festival, I couldn't get enough of my new favorite Mexican dance rock quintet. Turns out their newest album is just as catchy and toe-tapping as I expected.
It starts off on the right foot with some nonsensical accordion techno in the form of "Sister Twisted," (see the tremendously entertaining music video) and the 80s pop throwback "I Say Hey." The band has a penchant for coming up with simple but catchy riffs and then drilling them into your brain excessively — a method demonstrated clearly by the bass player on "Una Linea de Luz." There's an undeniable current of cool running below the surface of all their songs; it's the kind of thing that makes you want to drove slowly, roll down the windows, and crank up "Lay Back." Yeah bitches.

3. Justin Timberlake - FutureSex/LoveSounds

Hasn't enough been written about this guy lately? Apparently not, because I'm writing more. I'm not ashamed to admit that I love this album, despite the fact that it reminds me of a tragically awkward road trip. From the very first few notes, you can't deny he did, in fact, bring sexy back.

What's really remarkable about this album to me is the clear focus on production value and a nice glossy finish on all the songs. This isn't surprising considering the star power (it's got more pop, rap, and R&B guest stars than a Scientology convention), but what is surprising is how well the songs blend together. Many of them have such clean transitions that you could miss them if you don't pay attention. It's definitely an album best listened to from beginning to end. Consider it the Dark Side of the Moon of modern pop. Anybody got a copy of the Wizard of Oz?

2. The Blow - Paper Television

This album became a fast favorite of mine in early December. Here's what I wrote about it back then:

Paper Television by the Blow has become my new favorite. I first heard the Blow while I was listening to a Pandora station based on The Knife. I liked it so much that I bought the album from iTunes almost immediately.

The Blow is a two-woman group that produces the same sort of glitch-pop that The Postal Service popularized a few years ago, but without all the sugary Gibbardesque lyrics. The album contains varying degrees of lovesick-slash-hopeful tunes, and plenty of supply and demand metaphors. It's like electronica for single economists. My favorite songs on the album are Pile of Gold, Pardon Me, and Parentheses, but Long List of Girls gets an honorable mention for incorporating a drumline into its beat.

1. The Knife - Silent Shout

Anyone who's been paying attention to my posts in the last year should be completely unsurprised that I've designated this album as my favorite of the year.

I learned about the Knife late in 2005, and their album Deep Cuts became a regular in my rotation. But it wasn't until Silent Shout was released that I discovered the meaning of the word addiction. Every song on this album is a work of art, from the fluttering synthesizers on the title track to the layers of schizophrenic beats and rhythms on "We Share Our Mother's Health," my personal favorite. The Knife's previous albums were delightfully different, but this one is where they found their much darker niche.

The event that added fuel to the Knife explosion was my fortunate attendance of their live show in November, one of only a few in the States. Seeing them in person, while not a triumph of musicianship, revealed a feast for the eyes and ears. They thrive on the quirky and strange, and their stage show reflects this intensely.

I'm currently working on scoring a copy of their recently released DVD, Silent Shout: An Audio Visual Experiment. One customer review states:

Just bought this from a Swedish website and am loving every minute of it. I suggest watching this with your closest relative, nude as hell. I cannot stress the word nude enough. A must view.

Sounds par for the course for The Knife. I can't wait!

2006 goes out with a bang

2007-01-02T23:38:00.000-08:00

Please excuse the long absence, but it's been a busy few weeks. Dates, visitors, sickness, and general holiday madness caused me to slip into a non-blogging coma. Now that things have calmed down somewhat, I'm back to share my adventures with you, my loosely interested readership.

Off the record

As expected, my date with Jess went wonderfully. I'm afraid I've developed a little crush on her, as evidenced by the mixtape I made for her. (Eww, mushy.) She's into Radiohead, indie rock, and alt-country, so that's where I centered the mix. The whole story of how I met her is really quite cute, but I have to let it simmer a while before I share.

1. "Step Into My Office, Baby" by Belle & Sebastian from Dear Catastrophe Waitress
2. "I Turn My Camera On" by Spoon from Gimme Fiction
3. "Sugar Pill" by Ambulance Ltd from Ambulance Ltd
4. "California" by Semisonic from Feeling Strangely Fine
5. "Crosses" by Zero 7 from The Garden
6. "Dissolved Girl" by Massive Attack from Mezzanine
7. "Burn That Broken Bed" by Iron and Wine & Calexico from In the Reins
8. "Heartbeats" by José González from Veneer
9. "Chinese Translation" by M. Ward from Post-War
10. "The Big Guns" by Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins from Rabbit Fur Coat
11. "Crooked Road And The Briar" by Calexico from Aerocalexico
12. "Sunburn" by Muse from Showbiz
13. "Exit Music (For a Film)" by Brad Mehldau from Morning Becomes Eclectic

We went to a charming soul food joint called The Front Porch, where I had a fantastically huge cheeseburger and she devoured a steak. The conversation and wine flowed, and then we parted ways after promising to go out again. (Insert "high five" gesture here.)

City tour, round 3

My parents came to visit for Christmas, so we spent a few days traipsing around the city. We stopped at the Wharf for some In-N-Out, walked up Hyde Street and down Lombard, and strolled through Chinatown. My dad and I went on a long bike ride up over the Golden Gate and back down on the ferry, which was probably the highlight of his trip. It felt good to show them around; it was almost as if by showing them that these things I've been telling them about really do exist, my time here was made more tangible and justified. Family Christmases are not always pleasant occasions, but this one was great.

You and me and the NyQuil makes three

One of my least cherished Christmas presents this year was the nasty cold I caught from my dad. I missed two days of work while I coughed up a lung in the privacy of my own apartment. Several boxes of Kleenexes and many, many Discovery Channel specials later, I'm on the road to recovery.

During the waning phase of my phlegm proliferation, I attended another of Jesse's legendary parties. His New Year's Eve bash was a big success, packing approximately 500 people into his cozy row house apartment (or so it felt). What made it a real success was the fact that everybody — even yours truly the wallflower — found somebody to snog at midnight. Some people even found a little more (or so I hear).