Flashback Friday: Metaphors For...Whatever

This post was originally written on December 11, 2006 for my now defunct Movie Geek Boy blog.

Stream of conscious observations from the Trey Anastasio show at the Wiltern last night:

I noticed that the crowd seemed older and more polished than the usual Trey Anastasio/Phish crowd. Maybe it's because it was an LA crowd. Or maybe we're all just grown up now. I usually have trouble wrangling anyone to go with me to a show, so I'm there by myself. It can be a cool experience going to a concert by yourself. It's pretty easy to meet people and strike up conversation at these kinds of shows. If not, the people-watching is always fascinating. Sure enough, I start talking to a vaguely Winona Ryder-ish woman, whom I immediately pegged as an aspiring actress even before she told me so, and a graying man who was none so subtle in his attempts to pick up this woman. They proved to be a constant source of entertainment for me. At one point, she leans over to me and says, "The music is, like, a metaphor for...whatever" in a way that suggested that she really, really meant it.

The show was killer. One of the best I've seen in a long time. It ended when each member of the band grabbed a cowbell and along with the horn section, began to march and play their way up the aisle through the theater. I was standing on the aisle and soon enough, Trey and the band marched up beside me. When they passed, we followed the band through the lobby of the theater, outside into the street and up the block where they finally disappeared into their tour bus. They never stopped playing the whole time. For a minute it reminded me of a musical like Fame, where everyone pours out into the streets, dancing together. It was a very cool thing to be a part of.

Sometimes You Have To Let Someone Else Drive

I want to throw a big thank you out there to my man D, who because he's been fortunate enough to meet a woman he wants to marry, had provided us with a chance to have a bachelor party in Vegas and all that entails. At the culmination of a fantastic weekend, D gave each of us a particular handcrafted parting gift, which I have to say has served me very well over the past few days.

This week, business has me driving from the Valley to Beverly Hills to the Valley and back again. That's a lot of time logged in the cockpit during peak LA rush hour traffic. But the cool thing is that D's gift was a mixtape. Not just any mixtape, but a double disc mixtape. There is a certain art to making a mix that's slowly being lost in this age of shuffling ipody playlists. And in this case, D's a true artist. He told me that he meticulously picked each track and mixed them together in a way that was meant to be played from start to finish in the order he has chosen. To insure a pure listening experience, D covered the track listings on the back of his intricately photoshopped cover with a sheet of white paper, asking us not to remove it until we've listened to the cds. Clearly, a lot of time and effort has gone into making this collection of music.

About 99% of the time, I am in control of the music I listen to. I'm always moving about my iPod, listening to music I'm familiar with. Music that I've chosen. I like to drive. But I've learned that sometimes you have to sit back and let somebody else do it for you. And so I've been doing what D wanted me to and listening to his mixtape without looking at what song is going to come next.

Bra. Vo. D! Bravo. It's very cool. Songs mixed into other songs which mixed into quotes from movies. Each song sounded good against the next one. I was so happy that Paper Panes from MIA had found it's way onto the mix. As well as Beck. Fatlip. Chemical Brothers. The Streets. There were songs that I had never heard mixed with just enough songs that I know. Freakin' Barracuda. Well played good Sir!

Even though leaving tonight's seminar I had a half an hour's drive home and even though it was 10:30, as the mixtape pumped loudly through my car's stereo, I decided to take the long way home so that I could keep listening to it.

Happy Joe Joes

Continuing on the music theme…

When the Bean was an infant, I made a CD for him. I tried to find fun kid-relevant songs that weren’t the standard nursery rhymes or Sesame Street music that is prevalent for that age. One of the songs, “Happy Happy Joy Joy”, quickly became one of the Bean’s favorites. In fact, he called all music “Happy Happy Joy Joy” (or as he said it, “happy joe joes”). He still does sometimes.

The song comes from the Ren and Stimpy show, which is brilliant but is definitely on the edgy side of kids’ entertainment. In fact, I really can’t believe that it ever aired on Nickelodeon, but hey, it was the 90s and a simpler time.

The Bean’s love of the song has not wavered as he’s gotten older. This fills me with delight and causes the wife to roll her eyes in a way that says, “I can’t believe that there are two of you living in this house.” However, it’s becoming clear that we may have to take the song out of rotation.

When putting the mix together, I asked Jules if she thought the song would be a problem. She said she didn’t think so (a conversation she now conveniently can’t recall ever taking place). There is a line in the song that goes, “I’ll teach you to be happy. I’ll teach your grandmother to suck eggs.” A few days ago, Jules calls me at work and I can hear the Bean screaming in the background, “Suck eggs! Suck eggs! Suck eggs!”

Sing a Song

I have not been sleeping well.

It’s not because I spent Thanksgiving in NJ, where the bed in my mother-in-law’s house is stiff as a board. It’s not because I’m in my mid-thirties and therefore unable to make it through the night without having to get up and stumble to the bathroom to piss. And it’s not due to the bizarre stress-related nightmares that oddly I am unable to remember 10 minutes after I wake up. Though all of these things are true, they are not the reason why I can’t recall the last decent night’s sleep I’ve had.

It’s music.

More specifically, it’s the simple yet insanely catchy songs that the Bean listens to and loves. Not all of it is bad. Singers like Jim Gill and Laurie Berkner are decent enough. They are good musicians who craft solid kids music that doesn’t drive me batty me upon repeat listens.

But lately, the Bean has gotten a taste for The Doodlebops. This Canadian import features three over the top performers in garishly cartoon-like chttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifostumes and make up. (Sample lyrics: “We’re the Doodlebops. We’re the Doodlebops. We’re the Doodlebops oh yeah!” and “Let’s get on the bus. It’s time to go!”) They make me want to claw my eyes out. The worst part is that these songs have gotten permanently lodged in my brain.

Add this to the growing list of songs that I can’t stop singing which already includes just about anything from the Wiggles, “Party in my Tummy” from “Yo Gabba Gabba”, and the one two punch of "Bananaphone" and "Apples and Bananas" from the grandfather of annoying kid songs, Raffi.

They won’t get out of my head. They are playing when I’m in a meeting, or the shower. I’ve got the Doodlebops theme song running on a loop in my mind right now.

Yesterday, the Bean kept telling me, “I hear music.” But when we were absolutely quiet, I couldn’t hear anything. I wonder if he can’t get these songs out of his head either.

Can You Shred on a Plastic Guitar and Still Remain Sane?

I have a problem. I can’t stop thinking about it. And the obsession is starting to take over my life. I recently got a taste of Guitar Hero. And I want more!!!

It started out innocently enough. There was a PS2 plugged into the massive TV on one of the floors in my building. A group was huddled around the screen and they asked if I wanted to play. “Sure,” I said out loud and than quietly to myself I added, “What’s the harm?”

Once we figured out the left handed configuration of the guitar, I was off an running, hitting power cords to “Heat of the Moment” (You know how I know you’re gay…?).

Dude.

This game freaking rules. It took about six seconds before I was hooked.

The problem was pretty much contained until last week during a fateful trip to Costco. Because in that big warehouse, nestled amongst the free sausage samples and industrial sized peanut butter was the newly released Guitar Hero III…for the Wii! Jules saw what was capturing my gaze and quickly ushered me out of the aisle. But it was too late. It had burned into my brain.

Now I have a problem.

I have an addictive personality, which is why I don’t currently have a video game system in my home. Video games and I were all well and good for a while, but since the last generation of game systems came out, the average play time of a game is between 15-20 hours. I don’t have even close to that kind of time. But I do have addictive tendencies. So it’s better for me not to have video games at my disposal.

Then they came out with the Wii, which I played for the first time earlier this summer. It’s pretty cool. And of course, I want one. But I have been able to stay strong and resist the urge to get one. That is until last week, when the one-two punch of a Wii and Guitar Hero for the Wii has weakened my resolve. (Let’s not forget the new Simpsons game too!)

Jules loves to remind me that this current obsession is just like the one I had with PSP, which after a solid month or two of playing sat dormant in my drawer collecting cobwebs.

“But this time will be different,” I tell her.

She gives me the same look that my parents gave my sister when she asked them for a dog.

The holiday season is here, so Wiis are hard to come by. That hasn’t stopped me from browsing on Ebay, thoughts of me shredding on GH running rampant in my head.