If this catches on, this blog will feature a lot more videos and be a lot more fun. For me. I can't decide if it will be any better for you.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
High Crimes and Welsh Crooners
I suppose it is normal for everyone to have a few songs that are considered so cheesy, so impossibly commercially crafted, that it is a bit embarrassing to admit to liking them. I've always hated music snobs, but I can confess to sniffing at people who like American Idol artists before plugging my iPod in to hear the latest Vampire Weekend track or something by We Are Scientists. Guarding against cries of hypocrisy, I always say that I'm not against "commercial" music like most hipster assholes, but rather that I am against "bad" music. This tends to end arguments with my opponents who usually have very narrow trousers and haircuts with a lot of angles to them.
I also don't consider myself a snob because there are a few very uncool bands that I listen to and like. For example, I still frequently listen to the song "Ignition (Remix)" by potentially soon to be convicted R. Kelly. I like Genesis--both Gabriel and Collins. I like a good amount of Elton John and Fleetwood Mac and the Alan Parsons Project. I even like "Bungle in the Jungle" off the 1974 Jethro Tull Album "War Child." If there is something less cool than that, I'd like to hear it. However, there is one cheeseball song I love that I will admit I am not even faintly concerned about people knowing I love. It's a song that everyone has heard, and I know for a fact that over 90% of them love it. Tom Jones's Sex Bomb might be the catchiest tune ever committed to a record. I'm always amazed that the song, for all its suggestive lyrical content, is played at children's parties (hand to God) without the slightest hint of irony. Something about that Welsh Tomcat just lets people's guard down and he's off belting out this magical number. Pump this tune in your iPod next time you're walking the streets or even washing the dishes. I guarantee you'll be singing it by the 1:00 mark--and if you are on the street, make sure that cop knows you're listening to Jonesy and not propositioning someone in Tompkins Square Park.
I also don't consider myself a snob because there are a few very uncool bands that I listen to and like. For example, I still frequently listen to the song "Ignition (Remix)" by potentially soon to be convicted R. Kelly. I like Genesis--both Gabriel and Collins. I like a good amount of Elton John and Fleetwood Mac and the Alan Parsons Project. I even like "Bungle in the Jungle" off the 1974 Jethro Tull Album "War Child." If there is something less cool than that, I'd like to hear it. However, there is one cheeseball song I love that I will admit I am not even faintly concerned about people knowing I love. It's a song that everyone has heard, and I know for a fact that over 90% of them love it. Tom Jones's Sex Bomb might be the catchiest tune ever committed to a record. I'm always amazed that the song, for all its suggestive lyrical content, is played at children's parties (hand to God) without the slightest hint of irony. Something about that Welsh Tomcat just lets people's guard down and he's off belting out this magical number. Pump this tune in your iPod next time you're walking the streets or even washing the dishes. I guarantee you'll be singing it by the 1:00 mark--and if you are on the street, make sure that cop knows you're listening to Jonesy and not propositioning someone in Tompkins Square Park.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The Magnificence of Transience
I vaguely remember about 2 months ago that I had issued a bold decree to post more to this blog as I had just recently been unchained from my old laptop and was in possession of a new sexy one. As with most things I say, that ended up being a lie. But this is America, and we are about nothing if not redemption. So here's what's been going on.
I suppose it would be too precious if I didn't mention that the singularly important event of the past few months is that I graduated from NYU. You could call it a bitter sweet moment to leave college, but I think that's underselling it--it's just plain damn bitter. If there is a just and right God in Heaven, I believe that he created the 4 year undergraduate experience in order to give us mortals the best approximation of what his home is like. I do not think an 18 year old can hope for a better prospect than to go to college (previously established as Heaven on Earth) in Greenwich Village (Heaven in Heaven). I completely, whole-heartedly and unashamedly loved college. I loved college in general and NYU in particular. I even love that because of college I constantly use the rhetorical structure "I like X in general and Y in particular." I did not have a single class that I regretted, because even in those courses that I totally bombed I made good friends who I would meet later in a different class that I would also bomb. My course selection was greatly aided by the fact that because of AP classes and such I placed out of science and math requirements and was thus spared their hellishness. I did not mind taking classes at 9:30 in the morning (telling NYU students that you have a 9:30 class is a sure way to get sympathy from them. Telling people you have "an 8 AM" will almost surely get someone to buy you a drink) because walking down University Place or Broadway at those hours are the best way to see the Walk of Shame being conducted on campus. I could have done without the exams, but those moments of panic were notable as much for their brevity as they were for their intensity. I cannot say enough great things about college, NYU, the intellectual activity, the late night carousing that extended into early morning carousing and, at its best, to mid-afternoon carousing.
As trite as it is, all good things truly must come to an end, and while I am incredibly heart broken that I will never get to live the college life in the same way again, I know that what made it so magical, so almost transcendent was its impermanence. Knowing that we would never be young, carefree and so thoroughly inoculated from consequences is what gave us our splendid defiance. This knowledge does something to comfort me, but it cannot be said too strongly that I write this with a heavy heart: I am no longer an NYU student. I am that oddest of characters now--the alumnus. Here's to hoping that while I've lost the vaccine, I retain the defiance.
I suppose it would be too precious if I didn't mention that the singularly important event of the past few months is that I graduated from NYU. You could call it a bitter sweet moment to leave college, but I think that's underselling it--it's just plain damn bitter. If there is a just and right God in Heaven, I believe that he created the 4 year undergraduate experience in order to give us mortals the best approximation of what his home is like. I do not think an 18 year old can hope for a better prospect than to go to college (previously established as Heaven on Earth) in Greenwich Village (Heaven in Heaven). I completely, whole-heartedly and unashamedly loved college. I loved college in general and NYU in particular. I even love that because of college I constantly use the rhetorical structure "I like X in general and Y in particular." I did not have a single class that I regretted, because even in those courses that I totally bombed I made good friends who I would meet later in a different class that I would also bomb. My course selection was greatly aided by the fact that because of AP classes and such I placed out of science and math requirements and was thus spared their hellishness. I did not mind taking classes at 9:30 in the morning (telling NYU students that you have a 9:30 class is a sure way to get sympathy from them. Telling people you have "an 8 AM" will almost surely get someone to buy you a drink) because walking down University Place or Broadway at those hours are the best way to see the Walk of Shame being conducted on campus. I could have done without the exams, but those moments of panic were notable as much for their brevity as they were for their intensity. I cannot say enough great things about college, NYU, the intellectual activity, the late night carousing that extended into early morning carousing and, at its best, to mid-afternoon carousing.
As trite as it is, all good things truly must come to an end, and while I am incredibly heart broken that I will never get to live the college life in the same way again, I know that what made it so magical, so almost transcendent was its impermanence. Knowing that we would never be young, carefree and so thoroughly inoculated from consequences is what gave us our splendid defiance. This knowledge does something to comfort me, but it cannot be said too strongly that I write this with a heavy heart: I am no longer an NYU student. I am that oddest of characters now--the alumnus. Here's to hoping that while I've lost the vaccine, I retain the defiance.
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