What is it with mix tapes/mix CDs. What is the origin of the mix tape? As a lot, what do they mean? Are mix tapes something women should still want to receive after 8th grade graduation?
- Anonymous Reader Request
"Songblog II: The OC Mix"
Over the next couple of months or so, I'm hoping to wrap up some of the random writing projects I've left unfinished over the last year or so, like Scenes from the Next, Little Brown Boy Blues, and maybe even an episode of Tobey & Clark. The fact that these projects are sitting in various states, incomplete irks me to some strange extent I can hardly fathom, and I believe that if I just sat down for several hours at a time and got through them, I could finally start on some new, hopefully more profitable projects with a clear conscience and good storyteller karma.
In the interest of repaying old writing debts, I present to you Songblog II: The OC Mix.
Several months ago, someone asked me to write a blog entry about the significance of the mixed tape. Oddly enough, this was not the usual someone I'm talking about when I'm trying to be vague. This was someone I've never met, and I'm pretty sure only one or two of my regular readers actually know.
I told this person -- who asked to remain anonymous for reasons that escape me, especially since I'm fairly certain only one or two of my regular readers would know them by name -- that I was planning on doing something like that eventually, because someone I knew was supposed to be making me a mixed tape.
(Yes, the someone I'm usually talking about when I'm trying to be vague.)
I figured that if I was going to seriously reflect on the meaning of the mix, it'd be best to wait until I got a mixed tape from someone I consider a master of the form. I thought that'd make for far better material to riff off of than anything I've got to say on the subject, because honestly, I think that everything you need to know about the mixed tape or burned CD has been covered by Nick Hornby and Justin Marciniak.
Anyhoozle, that mixed tape I was waiting for never came, and it occurred to me recently that I will probably never get a mixed tape again from anyone. It just doesn't seem very likely that my life will take me in that type of direction ever again. I've surpassed my personal eighth grade graduation, alas.
What's the significance of the mixed tape? That's simple, doofus: They're the soundtrack of our lives. When someone makes you one, they're saying, "Here's a song that reminds me of that time we drove to St. Louis for some White Castle and I thought we were gonna get knifed at that gas station," or "Here's that song from the time when we were driving back from Barnes and Noble and someone made the observation that while everybody tries to sing the verses, Michael Stipe just goes too damn fast, but you always come back strong on the chorus," or "Here's a song about how much you hurt me."
And if you ask me, what makes them so great isn't the fact that anytime you hear that song, it's going to remind you of someone. It's the idea that anytime they hear that song, they might just be thinking of you...
But like I said, I'll probably never get a mixed tape again. And to tell you the truth, I was afraid for a while there that I was almost done with music all together.
After I bought William Shatner's Has Been this autumn, I became concerned that I'd never buy a new CD again. This wasn't like when I bought the Scrubs soundtrack and became convinced that I'd never need to buy a new CD again. This was all about my fear of the inevitable.
I don't know about your parents, but I think mine are pretty much done with music. I'm not saying that they don't listen to it... My father has a 300-plus CD collection. But I don't get the feeling that he's picking up new artists. I get the feeling that he's found what he likes, and that's that. Sure, he'll pick up a new Robert Craig album if it comes out, but that's about it.
I always figured this happened to everyone. That at some point, you stop listening to the radio and just listen to your CD collection. You don't hear anything new, you just listen to the same songs over and over, looping endlessly in the memories they bring to mind, trapped in the past and locked into the throes of the decades long decline of the rest of your life...
When I was in high school, I used to buy a new CD every other week on the basis of no more than having heard half the chorus on the drive to school. By the time I got around to buying the Shatner album, my CD acquisitions had tricked down to maybe 3 or 4 albums bought a year.
Which brings us to The OC: Mix 2, the first album I've bought since I got to New Jersey -- wait, I just remembered the Life Aquatic soundtrack -- and a collection of tracks that has reaffirmed my faith in my capacity to find a new tune kind of catchy. Because the week after I bought The OC: Mix 2, I bought that Bright Eyes album with the lyric book I can't read because I don't have a black light. Then the week after that I picked up Jack Johnson's In Between Dreams. Then I finally replaced my Ben Folds CD. Then it was The OC Mix: Volume 4 (which, I actually like more than Volume 2, but I've been planning to write about Volume 2 for a month, and there's no going back and changing now).
I'm back up and running, and it's thanks, in part, to the fact that Josh Schwartz and Alexandra Patsavas burned a CD for me and a million of my closest friends and fellow viewers...
Eels, "Saturday Morning"
Nothing’s ever gonna happen ‘round here
If we don’t make it happen
Sleep away the day if you want to
But I got something that I gotta do
I had to leave Krypto behind in Kansas City. It wasn't easy, but sometimes you have to make tough choices and sacrifice. I've been worried that he's just been sitting around in the basement, lost and confused, a poor dog without a master, a wandering ronin kryptonian retriever...
So imagine my surprise when I turned on the TV one morning to find Krypto on the TV.
Krypto the Superdog has come to Cartoon Network, and I must admit, I'm impressed. Not by the cartoon's content so much -- as it's clearly geared for the under seven set -- but I think it's pretty remarkable that a stuffed plush toy managed to fly all the way to LA and make the connections necessary to pitch his life story as a cartoon and get it put together in under a few months. (Though I wonder about some of the embellishments. For example, why have I been transformed into a white kid named Kevin in the series? And what's up with this Streaky the Supercat nonsense? That never happened!)
This has all got me thinking... what with Krypto being all connected and what not, maybe I'm that much closer to realizing my dream of starting my own animated series. How cool would it be to see The Little Black Duck on Adult Swim some day? I'm sure I could cajole Hank and Will into forming a decent writing staff (if I can wean Will off the spurting dick and reeking fart jokes and rein in Hanks crazy left-wing propaganda).
Plus, Adult Swim's part of the Time Warner super giant, and if Venture Bros. can kill off Race Bannon, I think I might be able to actually use Batman as a character. Maybe even Harry Potter, too.
Actually, if I'm gonna run into any legal problems, it's gonna be from you.
Jeffries recently threatened legal action for the use of her likeness in the Little Black Duck. Now, should an animated series ever be created, she'd be easily bought off with some voiceover work -- to say nothing of the fact that I think Paul McCartney or even Cameron Crowe would have a better legal leg to stand on in opposition of Penny Lane's character than Kate does -- but what about the rest of the people who've been parodized in my stick figure adventures?
I'm not ready for years of legal battles with Erin Tuttle. I'm not going to lie: I always figured that there'd come a day when the two of us wouldn't be allowed to speak to each other without lawyers present, but I really thought a strange and terrible night in Vegas would have been thrown somewhere in the middle there, not perjured testimony about the character of Erin Turtle being based upon my mother.
And as fearful as I am of that -- actually, I'm not that worried, because I'm convinced I could get Woodward as my counsel -- my real concern is Karl. I mean, assuming that Standards and Practices would even allow for a character with a swastika scar on his face, if I included Bloomsday, I'm sure Bloom would just track me down and gut me. Just gut me.
Aw well. It's probably a moo point anyway. (You know... like a cow's opinion. It doesn't mean anything. It's "moo".)
That being said, I'm willing to provide my dream cast list if prompted. (Though I'm torn on the voice of the Duck himself. White, Friedle or LaMarr?)
Super Furry Animals, "Hello Sunshine"
You're not too eager to serve...
You're a disgrace to your country...
I enjoy Robot Chicken, though I clamor for more Mego Spidey.
As much as I liked "Kill Bunny" and "3 Fast 3 Furious," my favorite sketch they've done was one of the interstitial shorts. There's this white pawn on a chess board that turns to another pawn and says, "No way I'm gonna die for a cause I don't believe in." Seconds later, it's captured by a black knight.
I don't know. This just seems clever to me. Like that "Sorry it's not in packets" gag from that Simpsons episode...
The Killers, "Smile Like You Mean It"
And someone is calling my name from the back of the restaurant
And someone is playing a game in the house that I grew up in
And someone will drive her around down the same streets that I did
On the same streets that I did...
There's a new Black Panther comic out. It's written by Reggie Hudlin, the man who brought us House Party and The Great White Hype.
I'm not too hot on it.
Let's forget the fact that it flies in the face of established continuity -- which Prewitt can tell you is one of my little pet peeves. Let's pretend like Hudlin's political commentary doesn't lack subtlety or dissolve into the same old "white men rule the world and they're evil and stupid" mentality that tends to turn the average comic book reader off (what with them being a white male and all). Let's ignore my odd personal issue with the inclusion of Batroc the Leaper, as that's based solely on my fear that this could have ramifications for a storyline I'll most likely never get to write in a series I may never get off the ground.
Let's set all of that aside, because my real beef with this series is that Priest did it better, and yet, this series is selling out and generally considered a hit, while Priest's Panther was battling the grim spectre of cancellation for five years before it was, well, cancelled.
What really gets me, though, is that if you go to Priest's website, he's got nothing but praise for this book. He seems generally happy that it's doing well, and I wonder whether he's just a far greater man than me or if he's just adept at smiling like he means it.
Death Cab for Cutie, "A Lack of Color"
This is fact not fiction for the first time in years...
Prewitt, cultural imperialist that he is, has been trying to get me into Death Cab for a couple of years, but it's never really taken.
I even really tried to like them, too, because I heard that Mel was a fan, and I had this desperate hope that if I could get into one of her favorite bands, it's make up for the fact that I put as much stock in her belief system as I put into the belief that if a groundhog sees it's shadow on February 2nd, we'll have six more weeks of winter. (I think this says more about my faith in Punxsutawney Phil than it says about my disregard for Jesus, but I somehow doubt she'd see it that way.)
My point, and I do have one, is that while I've never been a fan of Death Cab for Cutie before, I'm starting to come around on my opinion, and I think it may have more to do with the fact that their Seth Cohen's favorite band than anything else. I mean, Seth's the only television character I've ever seen with a Joe Kelly comic on screen. I figure I need to respect that.
And I also worry that there's really something very wrong with me. What if I can't engage myself with the world around me without fictional characters to guide me?
Interpol, "Specialist"
Time away from me will get you down
I love the way you put me in the big house
I love the way you put me in the big house
And speaking of bands Prewitt likes that I'm not into, let's talk about Interpol.
Um, Prewitt likes them. I'm not that into them.
But I love their song, "Evil." For a month or so, a clip from the video (which is one of those creepy puppet affairs) was on Target's sample disc for the display TV's and I'd hear it about thity times a day while fielding questions about cordless phones and portable DVD players. I never got tired of it.
Patrick Park, "Something Pretty"
At the most, I'm a glare
I'm the hopeless son who's hardly there
I'm the open sign that's always busted
I'm the friend you need who can't be trusted
It's April and I'm still thinking like a student.
A large part of the reason that the month of April's always freaked me out was the realization that the school year was winding down, and this feeling that the world was ending.
I'm out of school now. There's nothing ending for me in May, and yet I have this feeling that I'm about to lose something. But like I said... I've been cut off from my comics (please see above) and I got no friends in the Garden State (NYC's a different story, but I don't know how to call people up and beg them to hang out with me).
What else do I have to lose?
dios malos, "You Got Me All Wrong"
You got me all wrong
You left me under water
To tumble and fall
So many years ago
I've been told a tale of roving freshman FARCers that has both horrified and delighted me in equal measure.
(Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm more horrified than delighted, but that could change tomorrow. Damn my fickle heart. Damn all fickle hearts everywhere.)
I wanted to be remembered for something great, like rallying every Mizzou student with a Green Lantern shirt around the columns for a rousing recitation of the oath of the Green Lantern corps or being the guy who got everyone to call McDavid Hall "Mickey D's". But I was too damn lazy and preoccupied to pull off those herculean feats of fancy.
So instead, apparantly, I will always be remembered as an idiot.
What a fucking legacy.
Nada Surf, "If You Leave"
Heaven knows what happens now
You’ve got to--you’ve gotta say you will
I had this whole Passion of the Christ / "A Ghost is Born" / "Decalogue" party planned for Passover, but it doesn't look like it's gonna happen. I just don't think I'm in the mood to sit throught that crap, Jeff Tweedy or no Jeff Tweedy.
Besides, I still haven't figured out a way to write an entire blog around the Ten Commandments. Thou Shalt Not Kill? Easy. Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Wife? Um, kind of awkward.
It's so tough being me. You have no idea.
The Thrills, "Big Sur"
So much for the street lights
They're never gonna guide you home
No they're never gonna guide you home
You don't know this about me, but one of my goals in life is to live out "The Sunscreen Song".
I'm living in New York City... or at least as close to New York City as I'll probably get. I'll be sure to leave before it makes me hard. (Too late! HA! Eww....)
Next up: Northern California.
The Walkmen, "Little House of Savages"
Somebody's waiting for me at home
I should have known
Krypto might have flown off to the West Coast, but there's still my Brodie Bruce inaction figure to consider.
And let's not forget my comics.
While my comic collection's East Coast branch has grown immensely since I got that job at Target -- I just finished reading the last twenty issues of Promethea yesterday -- the Midwest Headquarters is still the center of my universe.
You know what I really want to reread? More than Deadpool or Black Panther? Major Bummer. Major Bummer of all things...
The Perishers, "Trouble Sleeping"
I'm having trouble sleeping
I'm thinking of what you said
About the tears been shed
It had to happen eventually. All of these late nights had to catch up with me.
There was a day recently in which I slept for twelve hours straight. This kind of threw me, as it was a wild addition to my usual regiment of four or five hours.
Of course, the next night, I woke up after two and couldn't get back to sleep, so, you know, I remain a wayward journeyman of the circadian rhythm.
Johnathan Rice, "So Sweet"
I waved hello and goodbye
to the ghosts on the boulevard
Not a day goes by in which I don't think I see somebody I used to know. Not a day.
Beulah, "Popular Mechanics for Lovers"
I heard he wrote you a song, but so what?
Some guy wrote sixty-nine, and one just ain't enough.
And there's no sense even trying.
I know, cause I've been
trying all the time to find the song that would make you mine.
But all I ever find, my love, are clichés that don't rhyme.
Slightly more depressing than the fact that I'll never be given another mixed tape again: the fact that no one will ever write a story for me. It's that age old lament proctored by Gaiman's Sandman -- "I'm the prince of stories, and yet I have no story of my own."
I can't even get a decent profile written about me that doesn't make me out as some crazy loser.
Of course, I guess I'm just assuming that I'm not a crazy loser...
Oh. Goddamn.
Keane, "Walnut Tree"
Why, why do I come here?
Seeking out the memories I hold in,
'Cause you put your spell on me,
Made me live in memory,
And I'm frozen in just the wrong time.
You know what I love about Keane more than anything? I'm convinced that the leader singer's a virgin.
It's probably an incorrect assumption all things considered, but in my humble opinion, this guy's pretty fugly. Actually, it's not so much that he's fugly as much as it is that he's bland. He's really really bland. And he so bland, I don't think even pop star appeal is helping him get any.
I have seen first hand the effect a little musical talent can have on the ladies, but I cannot imagine that it's helping King Keane. Especially since his other two bandmates are so much more attractive than him. Everytime I imagine the band hanging out with groupies after a set, it's hot girls telling the drummer that they love his lyrics, and him going, "Actually, the other guy writes them," right before they stick their tongue down his throat.
Meanwhile, Fugmo's playing solitaire in a corner.
Jem, "Maybe I'm Amazed"
Maybe I'm a girl and maybe I'm a lonely girl
who's in the middle of something
that she doesn't really understand
Women action heroes have really gotten big over the last decade or so. Buffy. The Bride. Alice from Resident Evil. Hell, even the Powerpuff Girls.
As an aspiring writer in action genre's I find myself wondering how I'd try to contribute to this phenomenon. The best I've come up with so far is the first seeds of a ptich to DC Comics for a new Steel series. My understanding is that John Henry Irons -- who once had the great honor of being played by Shaquille O'Neal in a movie -- is dead, but his teenaged niece Natasha has inherited his armor. She popped up at the tail end of Kelly's run on Action Comics.
I don't know exactly what I'd do with her if I was given the opportunity, because I don't get DC continuity nearly as much as I get Marvel, but I'm pretty sure I'd put her at a small Liberal Arts college somewhere between Gotham and Metropolis. And I'd base her character after my sister.
Sadly, this and J'Onzz is all I've got for any DC editor I encounter in my odd stumblings through the funnybook trade.
The Album Leaf, "Eastern Glow"
What have we learned
It's the same old things
That drive us here
And never go away
We are changed
On Monday, I'm starting a new big boy job in the big city. I'm working for a place called RIA. I don't know exactly what I do, but it involves the publication of tax information... I think.
(God, I really hope I'm not making weapons.)
I'm excited about it, if for no other reason than it means that I can start going to Target as shopper again instead of One of the Damned. At the same time, however, I guess that means I have to stay here.
I don't know. I thought I might go back to Missouri. You know... take a trip to my hometown, buy a bowling alley, set up a writing studio in the pro shop, make ten buck bets with Brent, and pursue Amy Walburn in a series of quirky attempts to win her heart. I mean, my understanding is that Walburn doesn't actually live in KC no more, but it's not like I have the bank to buy a the ol' Strike and Spare on 40 higwway (which my father christened "Smoke and Gag" during one of his trips to visit one) anyway.
I thought I could go back to my personal Stuckeyville. Of course, the irony of this situation is that the "real" Stuckeyville is here in New Jersey. (Someone please remind me to actually visit the hollowed out husk of Stuckeybowl. It can even be that someone.)
New Jersey certainly has its strong points.
Last week, I went to a White Castle and I only bought four cheeseburgers because there was no reason to buy 20. I could go back at any time. And I would be talking to an editor at Marvel if I hadn't come out here (or at least he probably wouldn't be e-mailing me back).
I just don't know if this is the place for me. Sometimes I wonder if there is a place for me at all anywhere...
...
I'm pretty disappointed with this entry, too. But hey. It's been a while, you know?
NEXT:
"The World of Possibility"
- Anonymous Reader Request
"Songblog II: The OC Mix"
Over the next couple of months or so, I'm hoping to wrap up some of the random writing projects I've left unfinished over the last year or so, like Scenes from the Next, Little Brown Boy Blues, and maybe even an episode of Tobey & Clark. The fact that these projects are sitting in various states, incomplete irks me to some strange extent I can hardly fathom, and I believe that if I just sat down for several hours at a time and got through them, I could finally start on some new, hopefully more profitable projects with a clear conscience and good storyteller karma.
In the interest of repaying old writing debts, I present to you Songblog II: The OC Mix.
Several months ago, someone asked me to write a blog entry about the significance of the mixed tape. Oddly enough, this was not the usual someone I'm talking about when I'm trying to be vague. This was someone I've never met, and I'm pretty sure only one or two of my regular readers actually know.
I told this person -- who asked to remain anonymous for reasons that escape me, especially since I'm fairly certain only one or two of my regular readers would know them by name -- that I was planning on doing something like that eventually, because someone I knew was supposed to be making me a mixed tape.
(Yes, the someone I'm usually talking about when I'm trying to be vague.)
I figured that if I was going to seriously reflect on the meaning of the mix, it'd be best to wait until I got a mixed tape from someone I consider a master of the form. I thought that'd make for far better material to riff off of than anything I've got to say on the subject, because honestly, I think that everything you need to know about the mixed tape or burned CD has been covered by Nick Hornby and Justin Marciniak.
Anyhoozle, that mixed tape I was waiting for never came, and it occurred to me recently that I will probably never get a mixed tape again from anyone. It just doesn't seem very likely that my life will take me in that type of direction ever again. I've surpassed my personal eighth grade graduation, alas.
What's the significance of the mixed tape? That's simple, doofus: They're the soundtrack of our lives. When someone makes you one, they're saying, "Here's a song that reminds me of that time we drove to St. Louis for some White Castle and I thought we were gonna get knifed at that gas station," or "Here's that song from the time when we were driving back from Barnes and Noble and someone made the observation that while everybody tries to sing the verses, Michael Stipe just goes too damn fast, but you always come back strong on the chorus," or "Here's a song about how much you hurt me."
And if you ask me, what makes them so great isn't the fact that anytime you hear that song, it's going to remind you of someone. It's the idea that anytime they hear that song, they might just be thinking of you...
But like I said, I'll probably never get a mixed tape again. And to tell you the truth, I was afraid for a while there that I was almost done with music all together.
After I bought William Shatner's Has Been this autumn, I became concerned that I'd never buy a new CD again. This wasn't like when I bought the Scrubs soundtrack and became convinced that I'd never need to buy a new CD again. This was all about my fear of the inevitable.
I don't know about your parents, but I think mine are pretty much done with music. I'm not saying that they don't listen to it... My father has a 300-plus CD collection. But I don't get the feeling that he's picking up new artists. I get the feeling that he's found what he likes, and that's that. Sure, he'll pick up a new Robert Craig album if it comes out, but that's about it.
I always figured this happened to everyone. That at some point, you stop listening to the radio and just listen to your CD collection. You don't hear anything new, you just listen to the same songs over and over, looping endlessly in the memories they bring to mind, trapped in the past and locked into the throes of the decades long decline of the rest of your life...
When I was in high school, I used to buy a new CD every other week on the basis of no more than having heard half the chorus on the drive to school. By the time I got around to buying the Shatner album, my CD acquisitions had tricked down to maybe 3 or 4 albums bought a year.
Which brings us to The OC: Mix 2, the first album I've bought since I got to New Jersey -- wait, I just remembered the Life Aquatic soundtrack -- and a collection of tracks that has reaffirmed my faith in my capacity to find a new tune kind of catchy. Because the week after I bought The OC: Mix 2, I bought that Bright Eyes album with the lyric book I can't read because I don't have a black light. Then the week after that I picked up Jack Johnson's In Between Dreams. Then I finally replaced my Ben Folds CD. Then it was The OC Mix: Volume 4 (which, I actually like more than Volume 2, but I've been planning to write about Volume 2 for a month, and there's no going back and changing now).
I'm back up and running, and it's thanks, in part, to the fact that Josh Schwartz and Alexandra Patsavas burned a CD for me and a million of my closest friends and fellow viewers...
Eels, "Saturday Morning"
Nothing’s ever gonna happen ‘round here
If we don’t make it happen
Sleep away the day if you want to
But I got something that I gotta do
I had to leave Krypto behind in Kansas City. It wasn't easy, but sometimes you have to make tough choices and sacrifice. I've been worried that he's just been sitting around in the basement, lost and confused, a poor dog without a master, a wandering ronin kryptonian retriever...
So imagine my surprise when I turned on the TV one morning to find Krypto on the TV.
Krypto the Superdog has come to Cartoon Network, and I must admit, I'm impressed. Not by the cartoon's content so much -- as it's clearly geared for the under seven set -- but I think it's pretty remarkable that a stuffed plush toy managed to fly all the way to LA and make the connections necessary to pitch his life story as a cartoon and get it put together in under a few months. (Though I wonder about some of the embellishments. For example, why have I been transformed into a white kid named Kevin in the series? And what's up with this Streaky the Supercat nonsense? That never happened!)
This has all got me thinking... what with Krypto being all connected and what not, maybe I'm that much closer to realizing my dream of starting my own animated series. How cool would it be to see The Little Black Duck on Adult Swim some day? I'm sure I could cajole Hank and Will into forming a decent writing staff (if I can wean Will off the spurting dick and reeking fart jokes and rein in Hanks crazy left-wing propaganda).
Plus, Adult Swim's part of the Time Warner super giant, and if Venture Bros. can kill off Race Bannon, I think I might be able to actually use Batman as a character. Maybe even Harry Potter, too.
Actually, if I'm gonna run into any legal problems, it's gonna be from you.
Jeffries recently threatened legal action for the use of her likeness in the Little Black Duck. Now, should an animated series ever be created, she'd be easily bought off with some voiceover work -- to say nothing of the fact that I think Paul McCartney or even Cameron Crowe would have a better legal leg to stand on in opposition of Penny Lane's character than Kate does -- but what about the rest of the people who've been parodized in my stick figure adventures?
I'm not ready for years of legal battles with Erin Tuttle. I'm not going to lie: I always figured that there'd come a day when the two of us wouldn't be allowed to speak to each other without lawyers present, but I really thought a strange and terrible night in Vegas would have been thrown somewhere in the middle there, not perjured testimony about the character of Erin Turtle being based upon my mother.
And as fearful as I am of that -- actually, I'm not that worried, because I'm convinced I could get Woodward as my counsel -- my real concern is Karl. I mean, assuming that Standards and Practices would even allow for a character with a swastika scar on his face, if I included Bloomsday, I'm sure Bloom would just track me down and gut me. Just gut me.
Aw well. It's probably a moo point anyway. (You know... like a cow's opinion. It doesn't mean anything. It's "moo".)
That being said, I'm willing to provide my dream cast list if prompted. (Though I'm torn on the voice of the Duck himself. White, Friedle or LaMarr?)
Super Furry Animals, "Hello Sunshine"
You're not too eager to serve...
You're a disgrace to your country...
I enjoy Robot Chicken, though I clamor for more Mego Spidey.
As much as I liked "Kill Bunny" and "3 Fast 3 Furious," my favorite sketch they've done was one of the interstitial shorts. There's this white pawn on a chess board that turns to another pawn and says, "No way I'm gonna die for a cause I don't believe in." Seconds later, it's captured by a black knight.
I don't know. This just seems clever to me. Like that "Sorry it's not in packets" gag from that Simpsons episode...
The Killers, "Smile Like You Mean It"
And someone is calling my name from the back of the restaurant
And someone is playing a game in the house that I grew up in
And someone will drive her around down the same streets that I did
On the same streets that I did...
There's a new Black Panther comic out. It's written by Reggie Hudlin, the man who brought us House Party and The Great White Hype.
I'm not too hot on it.
Let's forget the fact that it flies in the face of established continuity -- which Prewitt can tell you is one of my little pet peeves. Let's pretend like Hudlin's political commentary doesn't lack subtlety or dissolve into the same old "white men rule the world and they're evil and stupid" mentality that tends to turn the average comic book reader off (what with them being a white male and all). Let's ignore my odd personal issue with the inclusion of Batroc the Leaper, as that's based solely on my fear that this could have ramifications for a storyline I'll most likely never get to write in a series I may never get off the ground.
Let's set all of that aside, because my real beef with this series is that Priest did it better, and yet, this series is selling out and generally considered a hit, while Priest's Panther was battling the grim spectre of cancellation for five years before it was, well, cancelled.
What really gets me, though, is that if you go to Priest's website, he's got nothing but praise for this book. He seems generally happy that it's doing well, and I wonder whether he's just a far greater man than me or if he's just adept at smiling like he means it.
Death Cab for Cutie, "A Lack of Color"
This is fact not fiction for the first time in years...
Prewitt, cultural imperialist that he is, has been trying to get me into Death Cab for a couple of years, but it's never really taken.
I even really tried to like them, too, because I heard that Mel was a fan, and I had this desperate hope that if I could get into one of her favorite bands, it's make up for the fact that I put as much stock in her belief system as I put into the belief that if a groundhog sees it's shadow on February 2nd, we'll have six more weeks of winter. (I think this says more about my faith in Punxsutawney Phil than it says about my disregard for Jesus, but I somehow doubt she'd see it that way.)
My point, and I do have one, is that while I've never been a fan of Death Cab for Cutie before, I'm starting to come around on my opinion, and I think it may have more to do with the fact that their Seth Cohen's favorite band than anything else. I mean, Seth's the only television character I've ever seen with a Joe Kelly comic on screen. I figure I need to respect that.
And I also worry that there's really something very wrong with me. What if I can't engage myself with the world around me without fictional characters to guide me?
Interpol, "Specialist"
Time away from me will get you down
I love the way you put me in the big house
I love the way you put me in the big house
And speaking of bands Prewitt likes that I'm not into, let's talk about Interpol.
Um, Prewitt likes them. I'm not that into them.
But I love their song, "Evil." For a month or so, a clip from the video (which is one of those creepy puppet affairs) was on Target's sample disc for the display TV's and I'd hear it about thity times a day while fielding questions about cordless phones and portable DVD players. I never got tired of it.
Patrick Park, "Something Pretty"
At the most, I'm a glare
I'm the hopeless son who's hardly there
I'm the open sign that's always busted
I'm the friend you need who can't be trusted
It's April and I'm still thinking like a student.
A large part of the reason that the month of April's always freaked me out was the realization that the school year was winding down, and this feeling that the world was ending.
I'm out of school now. There's nothing ending for me in May, and yet I have this feeling that I'm about to lose something. But like I said... I've been cut off from my comics (please see above) and I got no friends in the Garden State (NYC's a different story, but I don't know how to call people up and beg them to hang out with me).
What else do I have to lose?
dios malos, "You Got Me All Wrong"
You got me all wrong
You left me under water
To tumble and fall
So many years ago
I've been told a tale of roving freshman FARCers that has both horrified and delighted me in equal measure.
(Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm more horrified than delighted, but that could change tomorrow. Damn my fickle heart. Damn all fickle hearts everywhere.)
I wanted to be remembered for something great, like rallying every Mizzou student with a Green Lantern shirt around the columns for a rousing recitation of the oath of the Green Lantern corps or being the guy who got everyone to call McDavid Hall "Mickey D's". But I was too damn lazy and preoccupied to pull off those herculean feats of fancy.
So instead, apparantly, I will always be remembered as an idiot.
What a fucking legacy.
Nada Surf, "If You Leave"
Heaven knows what happens now
You’ve got to--you’ve gotta say you will
I had this whole Passion of the Christ / "A Ghost is Born" / "Decalogue" party planned for Passover, but it doesn't look like it's gonna happen. I just don't think I'm in the mood to sit throught that crap, Jeff Tweedy or no Jeff Tweedy.
Besides, I still haven't figured out a way to write an entire blog around the Ten Commandments. Thou Shalt Not Kill? Easy. Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Wife? Um, kind of awkward.
It's so tough being me. You have no idea.
The Thrills, "Big Sur"
So much for the street lights
They're never gonna guide you home
No they're never gonna guide you home
You don't know this about me, but one of my goals in life is to live out "The Sunscreen Song".
I'm living in New York City... or at least as close to New York City as I'll probably get. I'll be sure to leave before it makes me hard. (Too late! HA! Eww....)
Next up: Northern California.
The Walkmen, "Little House of Savages"
Somebody's waiting for me at home
I should have known
Krypto might have flown off to the West Coast, but there's still my Brodie Bruce inaction figure to consider.
And let's not forget my comics.
While my comic collection's East Coast branch has grown immensely since I got that job at Target -- I just finished reading the last twenty issues of Promethea yesterday -- the Midwest Headquarters is still the center of my universe.
You know what I really want to reread? More than Deadpool or Black Panther? Major Bummer. Major Bummer of all things...
The Perishers, "Trouble Sleeping"
I'm having trouble sleeping
I'm thinking of what you said
About the tears been shed
It had to happen eventually. All of these late nights had to catch up with me.
There was a day recently in which I slept for twelve hours straight. This kind of threw me, as it was a wild addition to my usual regiment of four or five hours.
Of course, the next night, I woke up after two and couldn't get back to sleep, so, you know, I remain a wayward journeyman of the circadian rhythm.
Johnathan Rice, "So Sweet"
I waved hello and goodbye
to the ghosts on the boulevard
Not a day goes by in which I don't think I see somebody I used to know. Not a day.
Beulah, "Popular Mechanics for Lovers"
I heard he wrote you a song, but so what?
Some guy wrote sixty-nine, and one just ain't enough.
And there's no sense even trying.
I know, cause I've been
trying all the time to find the song that would make you mine.
But all I ever find, my love, are clichés that don't rhyme.
Slightly more depressing than the fact that I'll never be given another mixed tape again: the fact that no one will ever write a story for me. It's that age old lament proctored by Gaiman's Sandman -- "I'm the prince of stories, and yet I have no story of my own."
I can't even get a decent profile written about me that doesn't make me out as some crazy loser.
Of course, I guess I'm just assuming that I'm not a crazy loser...
Oh. Goddamn.
Keane, "Walnut Tree"
Why, why do I come here?
Seeking out the memories I hold in,
'Cause you put your spell on me,
Made me live in memory,
And I'm frozen in just the wrong time.
You know what I love about Keane more than anything? I'm convinced that the leader singer's a virgin.
It's probably an incorrect assumption all things considered, but in my humble opinion, this guy's pretty fugly. Actually, it's not so much that he's fugly as much as it is that he's bland. He's really really bland. And he so bland, I don't think even pop star appeal is helping him get any.
I have seen first hand the effect a little musical talent can have on the ladies, but I cannot imagine that it's helping King Keane. Especially since his other two bandmates are so much more attractive than him. Everytime I imagine the band hanging out with groupies after a set, it's hot girls telling the drummer that they love his lyrics, and him going, "Actually, the other guy writes them," right before they stick their tongue down his throat.
Meanwhile, Fugmo's playing solitaire in a corner.
Jem, "Maybe I'm Amazed"
Maybe I'm a girl and maybe I'm a lonely girl
who's in the middle of something
that she doesn't really understand
Women action heroes have really gotten big over the last decade or so. Buffy. The Bride. Alice from Resident Evil. Hell, even the Powerpuff Girls.
As an aspiring writer in action genre's I find myself wondering how I'd try to contribute to this phenomenon. The best I've come up with so far is the first seeds of a ptich to DC Comics for a new Steel series. My understanding is that John Henry Irons -- who once had the great honor of being played by Shaquille O'Neal in a movie -- is dead, but his teenaged niece Natasha has inherited his armor. She popped up at the tail end of Kelly's run on Action Comics.
I don't know exactly what I'd do with her if I was given the opportunity, because I don't get DC continuity nearly as much as I get Marvel, but I'm pretty sure I'd put her at a small Liberal Arts college somewhere between Gotham and Metropolis. And I'd base her character after my sister.
Sadly, this and J'Onzz is all I've got for any DC editor I encounter in my odd stumblings through the funnybook trade.
The Album Leaf, "Eastern Glow"
What have we learned
It's the same old things
That drive us here
And never go away
We are changed
On Monday, I'm starting a new big boy job in the big city. I'm working for a place called RIA. I don't know exactly what I do, but it involves the publication of tax information... I think.
(God, I really hope I'm not making weapons.)
I'm excited about it, if for no other reason than it means that I can start going to Target as shopper again instead of One of the Damned. At the same time, however, I guess that means I have to stay here.
I don't know. I thought I might go back to Missouri. You know... take a trip to my hometown, buy a bowling alley, set up a writing studio in the pro shop, make ten buck bets with Brent, and pursue Amy Walburn in a series of quirky attempts to win her heart. I mean, my understanding is that Walburn doesn't actually live in KC no more, but it's not like I have the bank to buy a the ol' Strike and Spare on 40 higwway (which my father christened "Smoke and Gag" during one of his trips to visit one) anyway.
I thought I could go back to my personal Stuckeyville. Of course, the irony of this situation is that the "real" Stuckeyville is here in New Jersey. (Someone please remind me to actually visit the hollowed out husk of Stuckeybowl. It can even be that someone.)
New Jersey certainly has its strong points.
Last week, I went to a White Castle and I only bought four cheeseburgers because there was no reason to buy 20. I could go back at any time. And I would be talking to an editor at Marvel if I hadn't come out here (or at least he probably wouldn't be e-mailing me back).
I just don't know if this is the place for me. Sometimes I wonder if there is a place for me at all anywhere...
...
I'm pretty disappointed with this entry, too. But hey. It's been a while, you know?
NEXT:
"The World of Possibility"
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